I Love You More Than French Fries
by Unproper Grammar
Summary: "We'll drink their beer and bed their hunnies and it will be the best summer ever, Gabi." That was the plan. But in between planning her sister's wedding and avoiding her ex, Troy Bolton, Gabriella is quickly discovering that things rarely go as planned.
1. In the Heat of Summer Sunshine

**So basically here is what happened: I couldn't write. To the point where I was crying I was so frustrated, nothing was happening. I have a list as long as my arm of one-shots to write for people, but I realized that in order to that, I needed to write something else. Something to remind me why I love writing to begin with. Start something completely new and entirely different.**

**So that is what this is.**

**It is loosely based off of the Summer series by Jenny Han. They are my absolute favourite. In general, though, the story will be entirely different, but the idea of the shared summer house steams from that, so! Plus I love them with my whole heart and recommend them completely.**

**Most importantly though, this is for my friend Julina, who deals with my mood swings and reads absolutely everything before I write it. It is her birthday, so I wanted to give her a treat! HAPPY BIRTHDAY BB, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS SOMEWHAT. :3**

**Here goes nothing! **

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><p><strong>I Love You More Than French Fries<strong>

Chapter One: In the Heat of Summer Sunshine

"_At the summer house, at the summer house, I'm curving like the ocean towards you_."

- Summer House by Gold Motel

* * *

><p>"<em>Carmen's gonna help me find a dress, or so she says," seventeen year old Gabriella Montez said. "When the time comes of course, it might be a different story." Taking her long dark hair, she twisted it at the ends, pulling it over her shoulder. She was dressed in a pair of white shorts and a striped orange and yellow tank top, her shoulders brown and warm from the heat. Stepping carefully on the rocks, she balanced herself as to not slip into the water beneath them.<em>

"_Do you know what colour your want?" a gentle voice said, and she glanced behind her to see Troy Bolton walking just as steadily. "For your dress, I mean."_

_Gabriella shrugged, smiling softly at the sight of him. Red Abercrombie t-shirt and brown plaid shorts, his sandy hair seemed lighter from days spent out on the beach surfing. His face seemed more mature this summer, aged and more defined. He was still beautiful, but something about him was losing that childlike quality. Gabriella both shied away from it and thrilled to it._

"_Not really. Purple maybe?" Gabriella said softly, still balancing on the rocks. "Maybe red."_

"_Green looks nice on you," Troy said thoughtfully, watching as she held her arms out for balance. She stumbled slightly, and he sprang forward, wrapping his hand around her wrist. "Careful!"_

_Steadying herself with the support of his arm, Gabriella smiled. "Thanks."_

_Smiling back softly, Troy slid his hand down her arm and enlaced their fingers. "Hold on to me, okay?"_

_Nodding, Gabriella gripped his hand, examining him carefully. "It's not a huge deal, though. Not really, I mean, it's just prom."_

"_But it's gonna be your senior prom," Troy said, walking forward and pulling her along. The rocky pathway that made up a better part of the beach was long, and when they were younger they used to attempt to dig in between them and search for buried treasure. Now, however, it was just a stop a long the way to the rest of the beach where swimming and surfing could take place. It was no longer the destination. Squeezing Gabriella's hand firmly, he smiled at her. "You only get one of them."_

"_You didn't even go to yours!" Gabriella protested, laughing as she tucked a strand of hair behind her eyes._

_Swinging their hands between them, Troy led the way as they continued down the path as it narrowed and grew steeper. "Yeah, but I kind of wish I had. It would have been a good experience."_

"_Aw, are you having regrets at your young age of nineteen, Troy?" she nudged his arm playfully. "Wishing you could do things all over again?"_

"_Maybe," he said with another smile. "Maybe I would go and maybe I would take you."_

_Gabriella flushed. "Oh, no, that wouldn't be...I was much too young."_

_Troy laughed. "It was only a year ago, Gabi."_

"_Yeah!" she said, blushing even darker. "I was only sixteen! A year makes a difference, Troy! I had more baby fat and I was less mature and just in general less attractive! It would have been a tragedy!"_

_Still laughing, Troy grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him. "I beg to differ. I imagine we'd have a lovely evening. You'd wear green, cause it looks best on you, and I'd show you off to my friends—the ones who haven't met you—and we'd dance the night away."_

"_Do you even dance?" It was Gabriella's turn to laugh at the notion. She'd never seen Troy do so much as move with rhythm._

"_Not really," he admitted, dropping her hands and wrapping his arms around her waist. In turn, she locked her arms around his neck and leaned into him as he swayed them slightly. "But I would with you, and I bet you'd be the best dance partner ever. Plus I'm a fast learner. It'd come to me."_

_Looking up at him, Gabriella felt overwhelmed with happiness. Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Well then, why don't we test out that theory. Come with me to my prom."_

_Troy stiffened slightly and Gabriella worried that she had broken the magic. But as quickly as it happened, he relaxed and tightened his hold on her._

"_Sure," he said, brushing his lips over her hair. "I'd love to."_

"_Even though you'll be twenty by then?" she asked warily, "you really won't mind coming to my lame high school prom?"_

"_I wouldn't miss it for the world."_

"_I'll wear green, too," Gabriella said sincerely, and Troy drew back from her, looking her in the eye._

"_Gabi, you don't really have to wear green if you don't want to," he said, "you'd look good in anything."_

_Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, burying her face in his chest. "You're such a charmer, Bolton."_

"_I'm not charming if I'm just saying the truth," he said back, knowing very well that at this point he was being a charmer. But he'd be nothing but charming if it would make her smile, make that blush spread across her cheeks._

"_Whatever," she mumbled, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. "We'll always be together, right Troy?"_

"_Sure as the day is long, Gabi," he answered earnestly. "I can't imagine my life without you in it. But," he stepped out of their embrace and twirled her around. "You're gonna have to teach me to dance first. Or else I might make a fool out of ourselves at your prom and trip over my feet and crack my head open on the dancefloor."_

"_Can't have that, can we?" Gabriella giggled as she came out of the spin. Stepping forward, she kissed the corner of his mouth briefly, before skipping down the rocks. "Come on! We had better do it on dry land."_

_They danced on the beach that evening, practicing the steps to the waltz and the foxtrot and the Macerna. Laughing and falling and kissing as the heat cooled and the sun went to sleep and everything settled in to a perfect summer night._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Two Years Later<strong>  
><em>

My entire life, I've had seasonal depression.

Seasonal depression is basically self-explanatory. During the cold, dark fall and winter months, I experienced a sadness that couldn't be explained. The dark clouds in the sky and heavy Boston snowfalls made my stomach hurt and my heart ache. I hated winter. I hated snow and snowboots and_ slush_; slush was disgusting. Coloured a dark charcoal from the exhaust fumes of cars and trucks and automobiles. Nothing about it was pretty. Winter was acceptable during one month and one month only and that was of Christmas. But once December 26th rolled around, I was ready for it to hit the road.

I never wanted anything to do with winter, so the few months that it dragged on (and sometimes it _dragged_) I would huddle up inside and dream about summer. I yearned for the sun and heat and happiness of summer. My entire life was summers. Everything was dead in the winter, all the plants and all the leaves and all of the water turned to ice. Animals hid from it! Nothing was breathing in the winter.

But in the summer everything was alive. Summer was everything.

Maybe it was less the actual season that did it for me and more everything that summer represented. Freedom. No school for three months? Count me in. As an honors student, the better part of my years were spent pouring over books and studies, lab reports and essays. I enjoyed it; I wouldn't work so hard if I didn't, but there was nothing about it that I wanted to hold on to. Having a break, a shift in the system; that was what I loved.

I'd be lying, though, if I said the only appeal of summer was warm weather and lack of school work. What I really loved about summer was the summer house. It was a standard cottage, but I liked calling it a summer house. It made it seem more special. It made it seem different.

That was because the summer house was different. The summer house had everything. Every summer, my family would pack up; myself, my mom, and my older sister Carmen, and travel to the summer house. We would stay up until two weeks before school. They would be the best days of my life.

We weren't alone at the summer house, though. The house wasn't even technically ours. It belonged to their best friends, Jack and Lucille Bolton, both of whom they had met in college. Jack and Lucille had two children as well, though for many years it was just the one, and our two little families would congregate together all summer.

Maybe that was what was most important to me about the summer house. Maybe that was what held the most excitement. I'd never admit it, but the thing that made me yearn for summer most of all was Jack and Lucille's son, Troy.

The summer house was where I felt alive. The summer house had Troy.

And up until six months ago, Troy was everything to me.

But it wasn't like that anymore, and this summer felt just like winter to me. I felt dead.

* * *

><p>"Are we there yet? I mean, seriously, I think we have been driving for about six hours. Isn't it a five hour drive?"<p>

"Carmen, would you settle, please," my mother's irritated voice sounded. "You're acting like you're six years old. Not twenty-five."

In a fit of maturity, my sister kicked the backseat. "I can't help it, Ma," she said, blowing her long bangs out of her eyes. "I don't even understand why you decided to drag me along this year. I haven't been to the summer house since I was twenty-one. I'm an engaged woman. This is insanity."

"Carmabell," my father interjected from his spot behind the wheel. "You are getting married at the end of the summer and we are paying for it, and you insisted that your mother be a part of the planning."

"I know," Carmen said with a roll of her eyes. Ever the drama queen, I thought.

"And we are not going to forgo our family tradition!" my father continued, his brow furrowed. My dad was and always had been a family man, and a traditional one at that. Every holiday had a routine and it was not to be messed with. When Carmen decided that she wasn't going to come up for the summer one year and instead go to Cuba with her friends and work in New Haven, where she attended school at Yale, he was crushed. He would never admit it out loud, but I had a feeling it was less about planning his daughter's wedding and more about having her one more summer before she no longer had the same last name that caused him to bring her along.

My mother smiled softly and turned around to face us in the backseat. "Besides, this really is our last time we can all be a small family unit! Why not embrace it, Carmen? Besides, you know that in town there are great little shops that would be beneficial to planning the wedding, and Lucille knows everyone. It'll be worth it!"

Carmen shrugged, but I could see her resolve was weakening. "You're right," she said with a content sigh. "Plus I could use some bonding time with Gabi here before I go off and be made into a decent woman."

"Yeah, that's really high on your list of things to do," I said with a smirk, "hanging out with your kid sister."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Carmen trailed off with a grin. My sister was six years older than me and absolutely gorgeous. Tall, tan, with dark eyes and hair, she had definitely gotten all of the best features when it came to the DNA pool my parents provided. In high school she was the captain of the cheerleading squad, as well as Homecoming Queen two years in a row (which wasn't even technically allowed, but the student body loved her so much that they vetoed the rule in favor of preventing an uproar), and maintained a perfect 4.0 GPA. She dated all the best looking jocks and partied with all of the hot girls. So it was a surprise to everyone included when she came home from Yale with her boyfriend Alex, who was not only completely nerdy and not at all interested in throwing around a football, but also completely and entirely smitten with her. It was the strangest pairing I had ever seen, but I had always underestimated my sister in terms of intelligence, I suppose.

That 4.0 didn't come out of thin air.

Carmen and I had never been particularly close. The age gap was a little too much for her to take interest in me, especially at the summer house. There were tons of kids her own age there milling about town and the beach, and usually upon stepping out of the car, she'd ditch me for Tommy or Susan or Jacqueline or someone else where she could get her big kid kicks. I was fairly certain that this was one of the big perks to my parents about going to the summer house; that for two months, Carmen had her own crowd to hang out with, and Troy and I had each other.

I shook my head, focusing on the scenery that passed by out the window instead of thinking about him. Carmen may have been dramatic, but she was certainly right. We had been traveling for what seemed like an awfully long time. I snuck a glance at my father in the front seat and saw his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the road. I tried to glimpse the dashboard; maybe he was just driving extra slow today.

This summer was going to be different. I just knew it. With the added company of Carmen for the first time in years, plus the change in dynamic between Troy and I, I had a feeling everything was going to be a little bit uneasy. In truth I hadn't wanted to come at all, but I didn't even bother trying to tell my parents that I was going to spend the summer working instead. I couldn't do that to my dad, and I really couldn't leave my mom to deal with planning Carmen's wedding all by herself. They'd end up killing each other, and I'd feel guilty until the end of time.

Really though, I didn't want to see Troy. I wasn't ready to see him. The last time I had was a cool September afternoon; the kind that signals that summer is gone and fall has come early, and we had been angry. There had been a lot of yelling, a lot of crying on my part, and a lot of storming away on his part. I guess you could say it wasn't a civil break up, and it wasn't something I enjoyed reliving.

As a result, I hadn't spoken to him at all, which was weird since I had spoken to him at least once a week since I was thirteen and felt myself slowly falling in love with him. But now at nineteen, I didn't care what he did, and I certainly didn't feel like seeing him anytime soon.

Yet I was. Troy would be at the summer house along with his parents and his little sister Helen. And I would hate every moment.

"Almost there, girls!" my dad said brightly and excitedly, and I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. Despite my qualms about seeing Troy, having my dad so happy made it worth it. "Summer will start momentarily."

Carmen laughed, twisting her engagement ring around her finger. She nudged me playfully. "Dad's like a big old kid, huh?"

I nodded, smiling along with her. "Pretty much. When it comes to the summer house, at least. He and Jack always act like kids together."

My sister studied me carefully, noting the tone of my voice when I mentioned the house and Jack. She laid her hand on my arm. "How are you doing, by the way?" she asked, her voice dripping with concern. "I mean, you haven't seen Troy since—"

"No," I said quickly, cutting her off. "I haven't. Don't worry, Carmen. It's no big deal."

Carmen's mouth set into a thin line and she folded her arms. "I could kill that boy for what he did to you."

I shook my head. "It's no big deal. These things happen. We'll be fine. Who knows, maybe he won't even come..."

Twenty minutes later, though, as we pulled up to the beach house, I knew he was there. I could feel it. My mother was clapping excitedly in the front seat, and my father turned around to grin at us.

"Montez women," he said to us, "summer has officially begun!"

My mother let out a little whoop and threw her arms around my dad's neck before practically falling out of the car. Carmen merely laughed, their excitement apparently contagious before once again rolling her eyes. Picking up her purse off the ground, she stepped out of the car and walked to the truck where my parents were unloading their luggage.

I was alone in the car.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, trying to pep myself up. It's no big deal, Gabriella, I said to myself. This is just Troy. You've known him your whole life. And yeah, sure, maybe he broke your heart a few months ago, but it's still just Troy. You know him. You know how to deal with him. It's no big deal.

But it was a big deal. It was a huge deal. But I couldn't let him or anyone else, for that matter, see that.

Stepping outside, a reunion was happening all around me. Jack Bolton was clapping my father on the shoulder, and he waved a greeting to me quickly before the two men set off, carrying the bags of luggage and belongings inside. My mother was enveloped in Lucille Bolton's arms, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear their girlish squealing were actually sobs. But I knew them and they were just dramatizing, far too excited at seeing each other for the first time all year.

"Is that Gabi?" Lucille said, and I couldn't help but smile at her. She was such a warm woman, so happy to see others happy. Her eyes were so bright, a pale blue shade, just like Troy's, and I felt myself falter upon seeing her. The resemblance always took me by surprise if only for a moment.

"Hi, Lucille!" I said, stepping into her extended arms and giving her a hug. "How are you?"

"I'm good, honey," she said, giving me a squeeze. "How about you?" Pulling back, I saw an expression on her face that made my stomach fall a little bit. She was worried about me. Worried about the damage left behind by her son. I swallowed, mustering up the best 'I'm perfectly fine and nothing is wrong and I am not angry with your son' smile I could manage.

"I'm great, Lucille," I said, my voice surprisingly even and clear. "Really."

She placed her hand on my shoulder and gave another little squeeze. As she did so, I felt a tug at my leg and looked down. The top of a tiny brunette head was staring back up at me.

"Gabi!" the voice said, and I laughed, bending down and picking the small girl up. "I missed you!"

"Helen!" I said, hugging the little girl to me. "I missed you, too, sweetie."

Helen Bolton was the unexpected bundle of joy that popped up five years ago. Completely unplanned, a total surprise, she was born in August when I was fourteen. I loved her like my little sister, marveling at how much she grew each time I had seen her. She was named after Helen of Troy, an instant connection to her older brother whom she looked up to more than any figure on the Disney channel.

I hoped he had been kind to her even during the times when he was kind to no one.

"Will you play Barbies with me later?" Helen asked, playing with a strand of my hair.

"Of course, Len," I said with a smile, "we can do whatever you want."

"You mean you'll build a fort with me, too?" she asked just as eagerly, and I laughed at the excitement dancing in her eyes.

"Yep! A fort just for you and I. No one else allowed."

"Yay!" Helen cheered, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"Mom, there's nothing in the fridge. Like, _nothing_," a voice came from no where, and I glanced up a little too quickly. I nearly dropped Helen at the sight.

There was Troy, standing in front of me, his blue eyes trained on his mother, acting like nothing had happened. Like this was a perfectly normal situation.

"Troy!" Lucille scolded, "say hello for goodness sake! Where are your manners, you're twenty-one years old and Helen here has more class than you!"

He smiled sheepishly before walking over and greeting my mother. She smiled at him, wrapping him up in her arms like the son she had never had. My mother always had a soft spot for him, and I knew that despite everything, she still loved him just as much as before. I didn't really know what to make of it; my mother's crooked sense of loyalty, but I guess I didn't really want her to hate him.

Hating him was awful.

"How are you, honey?" she asked, placing her hands on his face and examining him. "Are you eating right? Has your mother's cooking improved?"

"Maria!" Lucille snapped, "my cooking is getting better, I swear!"

Troy laughed. "Her cooking is still terrible, Maria. I'm glad you're here now, you'll save me from food poisoning for a few weeks."

Lucille scoffed and everyone laughed. Carmen walked over and greeted Troy, giving him a quick hug as he congratulated her on her engagement. She smiled, flashing her engagement ring stiffly. I smiled inwardly. Carmen certainly didn't have it in her to forgive Troy as easily as my mother did. She could hold a grudge better and longer than any of us put together.

"Troy!" Helen yelped from my arms. "Come say hi to Gabi! Right now!"

His eyes fell on me then and I gripped Helen in my arms tighter. His face grew tight and I saw him swallow visibly.

"Did you forget about Gabi?" Helen asked, sounding angry.

Troy shook his head. "I didn't forget, Len."

I smiled awkwardly. He looked just as good, if not better, than I remembered. His face was still soft lines and angles, his eyes still as blue as blue could get, and his hair still sandy and soft looking. It was shorter than before, spiky in the front and neater around the sides, but he still looked about the same as he did the summer before. Back when things weren't great, they weren't good, but they weren't the way they were now. Back when he was still mine.

"You've gotten skinnier," were the first words out of Troy's mouth upon seeing me.

He had never had a lot of tact, this was something I knew well. He wasn't a man of many words to begin with, often stumbling over his thoughts before they could leave his mouth. So when he did speak, it was like his tongue got over excited. Like the words were rushing to slip past his teeth and make a break for it. Freedom! Thoughts being expressed!

As a result, he had disclosed things I don't think he ever intended to in moments of vulnerability, and especially when he was drunk. Sometimes it was worth it; he'd confess how pretty he thought I was on our dates or when we were getting hot and heavy, how much he wanted me. When we fought, however, he got vicious and mean, and I wasn't never really a fan of being put down, but especially not in moments where he didn't really mean them.

Of course there was always the suggestion that since he rarely spoke, in those moments were he said things, they were everything that he meant. I tried not to think that way. I didn't like to think he had it in him.

But I knew he did.

"Thanks," I mumble, standing awkwardly in front of him. I couldn't look at him, at least not in the eye. Helen squirmed uncomfortably in my arms.

"I didn't mean it as a compliment," he said, folding his arms. "Are you eating right?"

"_Troy_!" Lucille hissed and I saw my mother stiffen out of the corner of her eye.

"It was just a question, ma!" Troy snapped back. "I'm just concerned."

There was a chuckle and everyone looked at the source. Carmen stood, arms crossed, looking down at the ground. She glanced up upon noticing everyone's gaze fixed on her. She shrugged.

"Sorry if I find that a little hard to believe, after all of these months..."

"Carmen!" It was my mother's turn to feel embarrassed. "_Don't_!"

Rolling her eyes, Carmen began to stalk towards the house. "Don't what? Address the elephant in the room? They dated, they broke up, he broke her heart, and now things are awkward. Can we stop beating around the delicate bush here? Cause things are gonna be really uncomfortable all summer if we act like they aren't channeling The O.C. the whole time."

It was quiet for a moment, no one wanting to be the first to break through the tension. Helen tugged on my hair.

"What is it, Len?" I asked softly and she frowned at me, looking like she was going to cry.

"Are you guys not gonna kiss hello?" she asked quietly, "you did last year."

I heard Troy let out a breath and glanced over at him. He dragged a hand through his hair.

"I'm gonna take off, Ma," he said, smiling tightly at her. "Sorry about all of this, Maria, Carmen."

Brushing past me, he pressed a quick kiss to Helen's head. Still resting in my arms, she twisted her mouth into a frown while I tried to breathe. He was so close, little Helen being the only thing separating us. He glanced up quickly and our eyes met, and I swear I felt the wind get knocked out of me.

Then he walked over to his white pick up truck, climbed in, and took off.

Helen looked defeated and she looked up at me with her big blue eyes. "Gabi," she said, frowning so much her forehead was creased.

"What is is, Len?" I asked, bopping her in my arms, "I'm sorry if you're upset, baby, it's no big deal. Troy and I are just..."

"Fighting?"

"No," I shook my head, smiling. "We're just...being silly. We'll work it out. I promise."

I didn't mean it and I was so thankful for Helen's age at that moment. She believed me instantly. "Good," she said happily, "cause he put flowers in your room a little while ago and I want you to see them and not be mad!"

I nearly dropped her again. Troy had put flowers in my room. And not just any flowers, but lilies.

I handed off Helen to Carmen quickly, feeling sick to my stomach, before racing inside the house, past my father and Jack, and to my bedroom. It looked exactly as it had the year before, aside from one minor adjustment. A large vase of beautiful pink lilies sitting on my desk with no card.

I nearly crashed into Jack on my way to the bathroom where I emptied the contents of my stomach, already wishing that it was winter.

* * *

><p>"I'm going out," I said a couple of hours later as I stepped into the kitchen. After my outburst, everyone had decided to go about their days as if nothing had happened. My dad and Jack were seated on the deck, drinking beers and laughing. Troy was still no where to be found.<p>

My mother, Lucille, Helen, and Carmen were seated around the table pouring over endless bridal magazines and post it notes. Post it notes about fabrics, about textiles, food, and lord knows what other things. It was something I may have enjoyed last year. Right now it just made me queasy.

My mother frowned. "Where are you going?" she asked. I knew she wished I was sitting with them, and as much as I wanted to grin and bear it for her sake, I just couldn't. The air in the house felt thick and constricting, and the presence of the lilies in my room was making me dizzy with implications. Not only did I want to go out, but I had to.

"To see Chad," I answered with a smile, hitching my purse up over my shoulder. "He just shot me a text a couple of hours before we arrived and told me he was working a double shift at the movie theatre and to come say hello. I haven't seen him since last summer, so..."

"Oh, Gabi, all the way into town?" my mother's frown grew wider. "By yourself?"

Carmen scoffed, turning a page in the magazine and marking it with a hot pink Post-It. "She's not ten, mom, and downtown is hardly dangerous."

"I'm nineteen, mom," I said, feeling annoyed. I hated when she treated me like a child, and something about the summer house made her do it more frequently. It happened every year. "I've lived on my own for a year."

"I just, I would feel better if you took someone with you," my mother said, biting her lip. "Maybe Troy?"

"Oh, Maria, hush," Lucille said, batting at her hand. "She's just going to see Chad, after all. And she's been coming up here for years; she knows the town, and the town knows her. Besides, who knows where that son of mine has run off to."

Helen sat up on her knees, a big book of wedding dress designs open in front of her. "Can I come with you, Gabi?" she asked, her eyes as big as saucers.

I shook my head, walking over to her. "I won't be gone long, Len," I smoothed down her hair and she smiled up at her, a big toothless grin. "I'll bring back some candy from the theatre and we can watch that Barbie movie you were telling me about tonight. That sound good?"

Helen nodded excitedly, sitting back down in her seat. "That sounds good, Gabi!" she said brightly, turning back to her book. "Carmabell will watch, too, right?"

Carmen laughed, pressing a kiss to Helen's head. "Of course, Len. Whatever you want."

"Troy, too?" Helen asked eagerly and Carmen tensed slightly. She glanced up at me and I offered a shaky smile in response.

"It's a girls movie, Len," I said as I began to make my way towards the door. "I don't know how much he'd like it."

Troy wouldn't watch with us, this much I knew. As I walked to the theatre, making my way through the familiar streets and roads, waving to people I knew and examining the things that had changed, I wondered to myself how much actual time he was going to spend around the house. Would he avoid it all together? He had been less than pleasant upon seeing me. That didn't bode well. Did I care, though? Did it really matter?

The fact that there was still a vase of lilies sitting in my room and that they were there at all meant something, though. I hadn't thrown them away and for some reason, Troy had put them there.

Shaking the thoughts out of my head once more, I opened the door to the movie theatre. It was a beautiful building with high cleanings and rich wood and red carpets. A real classic looking place. Truth be told, it wasn't the most modern place in town, but there were few parts that were. The theatre often played only two movies at time; one film that was recent, but were still in larger cinemas a few months earlier, and some sort of a classic film.

The theatre was a hotspot for dates on Friday nights, but that was about it. The rest of the town's teenagers would flock to the beach or the diners most nights, having either already seen the films or just not having the interest. If anything, they saw it as a quiet place to make out. So for the most part, only elderly people really attended it, and I always wondered both why they kept it open on Thursday afternoons, and how they managed to do so with so little income.

Yet every summer, Chad Danforth fought for his job at the movie theatre. I was convinced it was because it was the job that required the least work. I had known Chad since I was fourteen and his family bought a summer house in the area. He and I bonded instantly; I loved his silly nature and he loved my face. Once that appeal wore off, however, we discovered that we had the same taste in music and television, and that we enjoyed bantered back and forth. Aside from Troy, he really was my best friend. He and Troy got along really well, too.

Of course everything changed last summer, and now I was fairly certain they weren't on speaking terms. But it didn't seem like Troy was on speaking terms with anybody these days.

Chad was standing behind the concession stand that afternoon looking thoroughly bored. There was only one other employee working that afternoon, a boy our age named Angus. As in Angus beef. His father had apparently thought it would give his son a shtick, to be named after something that sounded macho and manly. Men loved angus beef, right? He thought it sounded tough. Or something. It would have had the desired affect had Angus not taken after his mother. He was slight boy with biceps so small it seemed like they could snap in half, acne, and curly brown hair. I waved to him upon seeing him standing behind the ticketbooth, and he flushed hotly before pretending to be very busy with the register and his non-existent customers.

"Hey, Danforth!" I called out as I approached the concession stand. "Who does a girl have to kill to get some service around here?"

Upon seeing me, Chad's face lit up and he hopped over the counter, sliding across the wood. In three large steps, he was in front of me and had engulfed me in a bear hug, twirling me around. I threw my head back and laughed.

"Gabi!" he shouted, hugging me tightly, "my savior! My light! My favourite! You're here!"

Still laughing as he set me down, I ruffled his curly mop of hair. "Aww, you're my favourite, too, Danforth."

Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he began to lead me back over to the concession stand. He hopped back over, before leaning on the counter and grinning brightly at me. "Goddamn, though, you are a sight for sore eyes. There is literally no one else up here yet! You know who is here so far? The Evans poodles and Kelsi Nielson. I wanted to scrape my eyes out with a fork just for something to do."

Hopping up, I took a seat on the counter and looked in through the glass at the candy treats inside, trying to decide which Helen would like best. "Well, glad I could be the last resort to rescue you from your boredom."

Chad nudged my thigh with his elbow. "Ah, shut it, Montez," he said, and for a moment I couldn't help but notice how cute Chad looked. He had grown up since I had last seen him; his features more defined, his shoulders more square. But Chad and I weren't attracted to each other, not like that at least, and I was thankful for it. I was still a girl, though, and I could still appreciate that my best friend was an attractive speciman. "You know you're always my first choice."

"That I am, Chad, that I am," I said, flashing my most winning smile and pointing down into the counter. "Can I have a bag of licorice?"

He nodded, leaning over and pulling out a bag and tossing it to me. "I'll put it on your tab."

I guffawed. "Oh, my tab. You mean the one I haven't paid off since you started it when we were fifteen. Got it."

"You're gonna get me fired one day, Montez," he said with a shake of his head. "But seriously, so fucking glad to see you. How have you been? How's Stanford?"

I smiled, fondly remembering the year I had spent as a Freshman at Stanford University. California and the whole experience had been so different from what I was used to in Boston. Warm, sunny, new. I loved all of it. "It's been amazing. I love it. I love the freedom, I love the state, I love the people."

"You love the pot?" Chad wiggled his eyebrows and I laughed.

"As much as you are loving it in Albuquerque," I shoved him, and he stumbled slightly. "Which I imagine is not at all, given that you are on the starting line on the Redhawks. I watched every game by the way. Why did you never tell me you sucked so bad?"

It was Chad's turn to shove me. "Har har, Montez. I don't suck. I leave all of the sucking up to Bolton and his band of merry suckers over at Berkeley."

I tensed and shot Chad a look, ripping into my bag of licorice and glaring at him. "I had just gone a full five minutes without thinking about that douchebag," I said, grabbing a piece and biting into it mock angrily. "You just had to bring him up."

Chad frowned and grabbed his own licorice whip from the bag. "Sorry, Gabi," he said sincerely, "I didn't realize things were still that bad between you. We mock him all of the time. It's our new common ground."

I shrugged. "It's not that things are bad. We just...don't talk. So we're nothing, mostly."

"Yeah, same goes for he and I," he said, already finishing his licorice and starting on a new piece. I felt bad suddenly, knowing half of the reason their friendship had disintegrated was because of me. "You see him yet?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He said I was too skinny."

Chad knocked my knee. "That's cause you are," he said, whipping me with his licorice next. "You're all skin and bones, Gabi. Skin and bones."

I rolled my eyes, not saying anything. A beat passed between us. "Whatever, Chad."

I hated when silence transcended upon the two of us. We weren't the types who dealt with it well. Chad always wanted things to be happy, for things to be good, and was constantly working to avoid tension or uncomfortable situations. And I just couldn't deal with much of anything when it came to social situations, so really we never had a silence between us that wasn't awkward.

"Well, fuck him," Chad said, "just ignore his dumb ass. He's just mad cause you got hotter over the year and he's still ugly old Bolton. No one's gonna wanna fuck him now."

I laughed, but I knew he was wrong. I could already think of at least seven girls who would gladly, and Sharpay Evans, one of the poodles Chad had mentioned earlier, was definitely at the top of the list. I wouldn't be surprised if she had already made a move.

"There's a bonfire at Jason Cross's house in a couple of days," Chad said, taking another piece of licorice. "It's gonna be bomb. A few kegs, some marshmallows and graham crackers. Some sick beats. You in?"

"Of course I'm in," I said, "wouldn't miss it for the world. Besides, you'll need a wingman if you're gonna try to hit on Taylor McKessie again."

Chad grinned, leaning over and grabbing a bag of Sour Patch Kids from beneath the counter. "I can always count on you, Gabi," he said sliding the bag over to me, "my number one girl."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Toss me a bag of Almond Joys for Len and you got yourself a deal, Danforth."

As he handed me the candy, Chad sighed and placed his hands behind his head. "It's gonna be great, I'm telling you. We'll drink their beer and bed their hunnies and it will be the best summer ever, Gabi."

I laughed along with him and I hoped he was right. It was all I could do, really.

* * *

><p>It was three AM and I was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a glass of milk.<p>

I never did well on the first night at the summer house. I never could manage to sleep in my bed which, by all means, was my bedroom. The house was probably one of the largest in the area (the perks of being owned by not one, but two families) and that meant that we all had our own bedrooms. That was until Helen was born, but she took over Carmen's old room. But with Carmen here now, that meant they were bunking. Not that Carmen minded. No one would mind sharing a room with Helen.

But on that first night, something about the house felt new and foreign and wrong. It had been that way my entire life. Usually, Troy would stay with me. We would watch a movie and make hot chocolate, or play Scrabble and cheat; making up words as we went along. This marked the first time I spent the first night in the summer house alone in...well, in probably forever.

And it made it feel even more weird. Not only were things between Troy and I entirely different now, but he wasn't even home. He hadn't returned from wherever he had gone off to earlier in the afternoon, and despite my best judgment, I was worried.

I shouldn't have been, though, because just as I was raising my glass to my mouth, the back door clattered open, and Troy fell into through the doorway, stumbling on his feet, a complete drunken mess.

I was on my feet at once. "Shh!" I hissed. "You're gonna wake everyone up!"

Tripping over the shoes in the hallway, Troy staggered into the kitchen, holding onto the wall for support. "You shh!" he snapped, "you're talking all loud!"

I frowned, smelling the alcohol on his breath from all the way over where I was sitting. Why had he gone out drinking? He was always terrible with his alcohol, unable to hold it and never able to know his limit. "That's because you're being loud!"

Troy rolled his eyes, making his way over to the cupboard where he pulled out a glass. Turning on the tap, he poured himself a glass of water. "What are you doing up so late anyway?" he asked. "Why are you even talking to me?"

"You know why I'm up," I said, annoyed. "I never sleep on the first night."

Something flickered over Troy's face, and for a moment, I almost thought he was sad. But as quickly as it had appeared, it left, and his aggravated demeanor returned. "I forgot. You always kept me up with you. I hated that. "

I recoiled, feeling like I had been slapped. I had always thought our nights together were special. That he enjoyed them. Or at least enjoyed being with me. "I thought you liked that," I said, hating how hurt my voice sounded. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Well, I didn't like it," he mumbled, taking a sip of his water. I wished he was sober. At least then I could gauge whether he meant it or not. But would it really have made a difference? "I just did it to keep you off my back."

Swallowing, I sat back down in my chair. "I'm sorry I was such a burden," I said sourly.

"A little late," he murmured, "but apology accepted."

I stood up again, my eyes watering and my lip trembling. It was now or never and I had to know. It had been bothering me all afternoon. I folded my arms over my chest and tried to keep my voice as steady as possible. "What were those flowers, Troy?" I asked boldly. "Did you leave them there because you care? Like an olive branch? Or did you do it just because you're sick and twisted?"

Troy laughed again. "I didn't put them there. My mother did. She knows you love them."

I felt anger flare up in my chest. "You're lying," I said. "Your mother doesn't know that. Only you know that. And Helen told me that you put them there. Why are you lying, Troy?" I taunted. "What do you have to hide?"

"I have nothing to hide," he spit. "What, you think I'm still in love with you or something? That I'm trying to hide my feelings for you or something? I didn't give you those flowers; my sister just wants to make everything a happy fairy-tale between us again. But it's useless because you know what? I wish you weren't even here. I wish I didn't even have to talk to you."

At this point, he might as well have slapped me. "You've been doing a pretty damn good job at it!" I shouted, and I knew at least someone was up by now. We were being too loud. "You've been ignoring me all year!"

"You've been ignoring me!" he shouted back.

"And with good reason! You broke my heart!"

"So what? Shit happens Gabriella. Fuck you, really. You've always acted like such a child."

"I'm the child?" I spat back. "That's rich. You're the overgrown, spoiled little brat. You disgust me."

"I disgust you?" he asked, chuckling darkly. "Is that so?"

I glared at him. "I hate you. It's beyond disgust, Troy. I _hate_ you. Anything I ever felt for you is gone because you broke my heart and didn't give a fuck about it. I don't want to even look at you, but I have to. But just know, there is not a damn thing I like about you. I hate everything."

"Well, I hate everything about you, too," he exclaimed.

"You know what?" I said aggravated, "you're right. Fuck it. You don't want to talk to me? Fine. Let's just not talk. You saw what it was like this afternoon, Troy. We'll ruin the entire summer for our families if we stay in the same room, so you stay away from me, and I'll stay away from you."

He laughed bitterly, slamming his glass on the counter. "Fine. You stay out of my way, Gabriella, and I'll stay out of yours."

"Fine!"

"Fine!" he said once more, his eyes flashing. "And eat a damn sandwich. You're all skin and bones and it's not attractive." He turned on his heel and began to walk away towards his bedroom.

I felt so angry, I could break something. Instead, I called after him. "Hey, Troy!" I shouted, desperate to get the last word. He stopped, but didn't look at me, and I felt the words slip off my tongue before I could stop them. "My prom dress, you know, for the dance you promised you'd take me to and then didn't? My prom dress was green."

Troy stiffened before lifting his hand and flipping me off. With that, he walked up the stairs and to his bedroom, and I heard the door slam behind him.

I blinked after him, my throat feeling tight and my head feeling cloudy. Mechanically, I poured the remainder of my milk down the sink, and placed mine and Troy's glasses in the dishwasher. Then I ascended up the same stairs he had and walked into my room.

Closing the door behind me, I looked at the lilies sitting on the table. They were beautiful. Once upon a time, they would have meant so much to me. Now, all they were was a harsh reminder of the past; something we once had. I didn't want to know his motivation behind leaving them. I didn't want them there.

So I picked them up, opened my door and walked across the hall to Troy's room. His door was shut, and there was no sound of movement behind the door, but I felt like if I listened close enough, I could hear him breathe. I set the flowers down in front of his door and turned and re-entered my room, before settling on my bed, and bursting into tears.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to Kirsten, who edited this monster. MY PARTNER IN CRIME, WHERE WOULD I BE WITHOUT YOU.<strong>

**I know, there's probably a lot of questions. Why is Troy such a jerk? Why did he and Gabi break up? What did he do to break Gabi's heart? What is the significance of the lilies? WILL THERE BE MORE ANGUS? Unfortunately, I will not be answering any of these questions any time soon, but I can tell you that next chapter is from Troy's perspective and will at least offer a tiny by of insight into his world. **

**And also there is free music in the form of a fic-soundtrack at my LJ.**


	2. We Left Our Love in Our Summer Skin

**I Love You More Than French Fries**

Chapter Two: We Left Our Love in Our Summer Skin

"_I made an excuse, you found another way to tell the truth."_

- Excuses by The Morning Benders

* * *

><p>When I was twelve, I experienced my first real injury while playing basketball.<p>

Basketball was something I lived, breathed, and drank for the first seventeen years of my life. It was the center of my universe; my dad played college ball, but he was never good enough to make it to the pros. It was this failed dream of his that caused him to put all of his hopes and accomplishments on my shoulders. As soon as I could walk, I was taught how to dribble. It was just how it was, and for the most part, I enjoyed it. I excelled at it, so it wasn't like it was an incredibly taxing thing to dedicate my time to. Sure it was a lot of work, and it was a lot of commitment, but for some reason I thought it was worth it.

That was until I was seventeen and I started to realize there were a lot more important things to life than having a perfect turnover rate and making every basket you shot. By the time I was nineteen, basketball was starting to have little appeal to me, and by the time I was twenty, it was a thing of the past.

I rarely thought of it now at twenty-one. But of course, again, that is an entirely different story. The story I am telling here is the one of when I first really got hurt.

I didn't tear out my knee or fuck up my calf or anything like that. I just sprained my wrist; landed on it weird during practice. It was the kind of injury that would set me back for a few weeks, would hurt like a bitch for a while, but wasn't something that would throw me out of the game permanently. And at thirteen when basketball was the center of my universe, this was a relief to me.

It was sitting in the emergency room later, though, practically passing out from the pain, where I learned a valuable life lesson. The pain wasn't excruciating, but it was constant, and when I moved I kind of wished I had a hack saw to get rid of my wrist all together just so I didn't have to deal with it. I let out a little moan of discontent and my father slapped me on the shoulder.

"How you doing, Sport?" he asked, frowning slightly. I swear to God he was almost amused by my behavior. Not in a masochistic, 'should call child services' kind of way, but in a 'my son is going through all the hardships of an athlete, how cute,' kind of way. I bit my lip and frowned.

"Okay," I lied. "It only hurts a little bit."

My dad examined me, clearly not fooled by my ridiculous lie. Retracting his hand, he sat there beside me and sighed. "Pain isn't even real, technically speaking, Troy," he said carefully. "A part of your body gets injured and it sends a signal to your brain saying that you are in pain and to feel it. Just tell yourself that pain isn't real and that it doesn't hurt, and you'll be fine. Mind over matter, son. Pain is not real. Pain is nothing."

So I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and told myself that it didn't hurt. That the throbbing and bruising on my wrist was all imagined and in no way real. It didn't exactly take it away, but it made it bearable. And it made me feel like I had control; it helped me think of something else to distract myself. Instead of focusing on how much it hurt, I focused on how much it didn't hurt. Eventually, the nurse called our name and my wrist got x-rayed and put in a splint, and I got some painkillers and it really didn't hurt for real.

But my father's words that day, the idea that pain didn't exist, I carried it with me. Every subsequent injury I endured (and as I grew older, they seemed to be increasing in both frequency and severity), I told myself that it wasn't real, that it didn't hurt, and I'd be fine. For the most part it just worked well. It never really did away with the feeling, but it got me through it.

That was until I was twenty and sitting at the kitchen table one September morning. My cheek was still swollen, and I could still feel the place where Gabriella's knuckles had made contact with my flesh. My eyes felt heavy, and I felt hungover; I had slept maybe twenty minutes in total the night before and had drank probably my body weight in cheap beer. Everything hurt; from my cheek to my fingers to my eyelashes.

More than that though, more than the physical pain, was the aching feeling in my chest. The feeling that a hand was wrapped around my heart and was squeezing periodically, trying to drain it of blood and feeling. It was worst than any pain I had ever known.

I rested my head on the kitchen table, taking deep, heavy breaths and telling myself that it didn't hurt. Pain isn't real, I said to myself, it is all imagined. You are simply thinking it hurts because your brain is telling you that it does. It doesn't really hurt. It isn't real.

My dad came down in the kitchen and with once glance in my direction, it was like he knew immediately that I was hungover and heartsick and beaten up all at once. He put a pot of coffee on and sat down next to me.

He said nothing at first, and I appreciated it. I wasn't ready to talk, I didn't want to talk, and it kind of hurt to think about any of it. I just wanted to keep breathing, keep telling myself that it didn't hurt, and just move past it.

"You okay?" my father asked carefully after a couple of minutes had passed. I nodded slowly. It didn't hurt. I was fine.

"I'm good," I said quietly, lifting my head from the table. My dad inhaled sharply, and I imagined my face looked worse for wear. Gabriella had quite the right hook. I should know, after all, I spent an entire day when I was sixteen teaching her how to throw a punch.

My dad stood up and began to make his way over the fridge. "You should put some ice on that," he said, rummaging through the freezer and retrieving a bag of frozen peas. He sat back down and handed them to me, and I settled them upon my cheek, wincing at the contact. I swallowed and looked back down at the table before speaking.

"Hey, dad?" I began, feeling small and nervous and not at all like a twenty year old man who was supposed to be figuring out his life and being responsible.

"Yes, Troy?"

"Do you think," I paused, "Um, remember when I sprained my wrist? And you told me pain wasn't real?"

I saw my father stiffen and I knew immediately that I wasn't going to get the answer I sought. "Yes..."

"Do you think that applies to all kinds of pain?" I asked carefully. "Like, do you think it's all imagined? And if I just try hard enough, it won't hurt anymore?"

"You mean like emotional pain?"

I swallowed thickly. "Yeah."

My dad was quiet for a moment, looking at me carefully, and I saw no amusement in his face this time. There was no slight twinge of, hey, my son is growing up. There was just sadness, just...just _pain_ for me. He stood up and poured himself a mug of coffee, and one for me as well. Setting it down in front of me, he shook his head.

"No, Troy," he said solemnly, "I don't think it works that way."

So I sipped my coffee and I let it hurt. I didn't try to tell myself that the pain wasn't real, and I felt it all. And the worst part of it all was realizing that it wasn't going away, that it didn't go away, and it would probably take a really long time before it was even closing to fading.

Pain was real. Pain was very real, and I couldn't hide from it anymore.

* * *

><p>There was a heavy weight on my chest the next morning, constricting my lungs and making it hard to breathe. My head was pounding; I couldn't remember the last time I drank that much or feeling this hungover as a result. I felt like absolute shit. As I regained consciousness, tearing myself away from the comfort of sleep and a world where I wasn't a complete asshole, where I wasn't completely confused and stuck living in the same house as the girl whose heart I had broken the summer before, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing them to keep me safe and away from the torture of the real world for a few moments longer.<p>

I wasn't a big drinker; I was an athlete all through high school, so I let loose in the way that jocks are expected to, but my dad was on my back too much for me not to be careful about how much I actually consumed. Even in the off season, over the summers and such, I was still careful. Plus I had the worst case of loose lips when it came to alcohol. Get me liquored up and I was either pouring my heart out to someone on the living room couch or lashing out at complete randoms.

I didn't do very well with alcohol, so maybe it was less that I wanted to control it because I had to for athletic purposes (alcohol isn't good for you and it definitely affected me whenever I had training. Alcohol doesn't fit into a training regime) but more that I did it for my own sake. I hated being vulnerable, especially in the last year or so, so the fact that I had gone to a small pub in town, no less, and gotten wasted off my face was a little bit embarrassing. And confusing. Very confusing.

I knew why I had though. Just one look at Gabriella was all it took for me to want to fall to my knees and wish the last year away. She looked so small, her always tiny frame practically non-existent. It hurt to look at her, with her sunken in eyes and her dark hair. She was as beautiful as ever, though, and that hurt, too. So I went and had a few too many to erase that image, to will away the shaking feeling that had settled in my body upon seeing her for the first time in months. To try to figure out a way to handle it all.

It was so much easier said than, done, though. Because as soon as I got home, as soon as I staggered into the kitchen, she was there, and I bit her head off, called her a child, and now we had vowed not to speak.

But whatever. It was easier than having to deal with trying to go to a place where things were normal between us. I didn't even know what kind of place that would be. What was normal for us? Friends? Or lovers? Or strangers? Or...it was too complicated.

I brought a hand up to rub my eye, feeling sleep finally leaving me. I groaned, the weight on my chest as prominent as ever, and wondered briefly if I had felt the same pressure the last time I had been drunk. As my eyes slid open, however, I realized exactly what the weight was, and let out a little shout.

Big blue eyes and a mop of brown, tangly hair were starring back at me. The eyes blinked once, then twice, and my little sister brought her hand up to tap me on the cheek.

"Hi!" she said brightly, her face splitting into a grin.

I groaned, careful not to move too quickly, because she'd probably fall off me completely. "What are you doing, Len?"

"Waking you up, silly!" she said, shaking her head. "Mama says you're not allowed to stay in bed all day, so she told me to come wake you up! So wake up!"

I closed my eyes and wished desperately that this was a dream. I knew why my mom had sent Helen in to wake me. Helen was the only safe one; the only one I wouldn't get mad at for pulling me from slumber. I cracked one eye open.

"I don't know, Len," I said lazily, "I think I'll stay here all day."

Helen pouted, sitting up on top of me and folding her arms. "No, Troy!" she said, pulling back the duvet that covered me. "You gotta get up! Mama said so!"

I shrugged, smiling slightly. "Nah, Len, I'm gonna stay here."

"Troy!" she said again, her voice increasing in pitch. She reached out her tiny hand and slapped me on the bicep. "Get out of bed right this second!"

I sat up, laughing as Helen tumbled off of me. She let out a shriek of outrage, climbing back up the bed and crawling over to me. "Oh, you're gonna get it now, mister!"

"Am I now?" I folded my own arms over my chest. "What are you gonna do about it, Lenny?"

She furrowed her brows and frowned, placing her hands on her hips. "I'm...I'm gonna beat you up!"

"You're gonna beat me up?" I asked in mock fright. "But you wouldn't beat me up, would you, Len? I'm your big brother!"

"Ya huh!" she said, her head bopping up and down. "I would so beat you up! I'll beat you up right now!"

I sat up straighter, looking at her with raised eyebrows. "Oh yeah? You're gonna beat me up?"

"Yeah!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, put 'em up then!" I said, raising my fists up in front of me. "Just like I taught you, Len. Let's fight!"

Helen raised her tiny fists and I couldn't help but laugh inwardly at how serious she looked. One afternoon, about four months ago, she had very seriously asked me to teach her to fight. Without our parents knowledge, I taught her the basics of self defensive, and then afterward our mother took away my car. Little girls, she said, do not need to know how to fight.

But Helen wasn't just a little girl. I was sixteen when she was born, and at the time, I had no idea what to do with with a little sister. All I cared about at sixteen was my friends, fixing up my father's old truck, basketball, and Gabriella. Why did we need a little sister? I had been my parent's only child for years, I was obviously good enough, and to make matters worse, she wasn't even planned. She was a hitch in the proceedings that not only complicated our family dynamic, but also reminded me that my parents were still...young enough to have children. It was all around a weird period in my life, and I spent many a phone call to Gabriella musing about the strange situation.

In the end, though, Helen was born and it was like I couldn't remember what life was like before her. I liked it better that way. I would do anything for her, and if Helen wanted to learn to fight, then I would teach her how to fight. It was just the way it was.

Helen was like that with everyone. Both of our parents, her teachers, Maria and Edurado, Gabriella. Even Carmen. She had every single person she came in contact with wrapped around her little finger.

"On the count of three," I said, looking her in the eye. She raised her fists higher, curling her lip in concentration. "One...two..._three_!"

With a battle cry of a yell, Helen hurled herself towards me, her fists flailing in a way I most certainly did not teach her. But just as she was about to barrel into me, I lifted her up over my head and grabbed her sides, tickling her mercilessly.

"No!" she wailed, "Troy, no!"

I laughed, swinging my legs over the side of my bed and jumping off, still holding her. "You really thought you were gonna fight me that easily, Len? You gotta train some more before you take on the big leagues."

I hitched Helen up on my hip and began to make my way to my bedroom door. She pouted, aggravated. "You're no fun, Troy," she said while she folded her arms. "You never let me beat you up."

"That's cause you can't beat me up, Len," I said with a smirk, opening my door. "I'm all man and muscle. And you're just tiny little Lenny."

"Oh!" she huffed, "I'll show you! One of these days!"

Laughing, I stopped as I staggered over something in the doorway. I clutched Helen tighter, making sure that she didn't fall, before looking down. I felt my stomach drop to my feet.

Setting Helen down, I looked at the flowers sitting in front of me. All over again, I was hit with the full reality of the day prior, remembering the way Gabriella and I had fought. I felt sick, but tried to shake off the feeling.

"Why are Gabi's flowers out here?" Helen said sadly, looking up at me with big blue eyes. "Didn't she like them?"

I crouched down, looking at the flowers, feeling a million miles away. I picked one up and turned it over in my hands. "I guess not."

Helen frowned further. "I thought you said pink lilies were her favourite! You seemed excited to give them to her. Why did she give them back? That's a...that's just mean!"

"It's okay, Len" I said. The flowers were her favourite, but I knew that she probably didn't like them, and she especially wouldn't have liked them after I lied about giving them to her. "Maybe she doesn't like pink anymore."

"Doesn't she like you anymore?"

I looked up at my sister, her pink and white polka dotted dress bunched up in her small hands. She looked worried. I smiled weakly. "No, I don't think she does."

"But why?" she asked, confusion etched on her face. "Don't you love her anymore?"

Picking up the flowers with one hand and taking Helen's hand in the other, I began to walk down the hall to the staircase that led to the kitchen. "No, I don't, Len."

My sister froze then, and she dropped my hand. "But why? Doesn't love last forever?"

I instantly felt bad. All Helen knew was happily ever afters and fairytales. She was surrounded by my parents, who still acted like teenagers, and Maria and Ed, both of whom seemed to be as in love as ever. Add in lovesick Carmen this summer, and of course she would think that love was a forever thing. Not to mention, she grew up with the notion that her big brother was a hopeless romantic for the girl she considered to be a sister.

"Not always, Len," I said softly, as gently as I possibly could.

She let out a breath, confused and upset. "But why not?"

I squeezed her hand. "Cause sometimes people just aren't made for each other. You know how like in Beauty and the Beast, Gaston wants to marry Belle?" She nodded. "Well, we all know that Belle was meant for the Beast. Sometimes, people think they are meant to be together, and they aren't."

"So you were Gaston, and Gabi is Belle, and her Beast is still out there?"

Her words hit me harder than I expected them to, but I nodded anyway. "Exactly, Len." I let go of her hand. "Now go find Carmabelle, I'm sure she'll want some help with the wedding's...something or the others."

This seemed to brighten her up immediately. She was so entranced by the world of weddings that Carmen had presented. "Okay!" and she ran off, yelling Carmen's name at the top of her lungs.

I jogged down the stairs, still carrying the flowers, and walked into the kitchen. My mother was at the stove, standing over a kettle as if willing it to boil faster. She smiled upon seeing me.

"Troy!" she said happily. "You're awake! Good!"

Her smile quickly vanished, however, when she saw the flowers in my hand. "Oh, Troy..." she murmured, bringing a hand up to her chest and I instantly bristled. "Did—"

"Did what, Ma?" I asked, walking over the garbage can. I flipped open the lid and dropped the flowers instead, relieved to be rid of them. It was a stupid idea anyway.

My mother pursed her lips. "You came in late last night, huh?"

I nodded, opening the fridge and taking a look inside. "Yeah. I went out with a few of the guys from the bike shop. We caught up. You know how it is."

"I do to an extent," my mother said warily, "but I also know that getting home at nearly four in the morning isn't your forte."

"It was a long day..." I pulled out a carton of orange juice from the fridge and took a drink straight from the carton.

"Don't you drink from the carton, young man!" my mother hissed. "Put that down right now! Right now!"

Taking another quick swig, I lowered the juice and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Sorry, Ma."

"You should be," she said sternly. She studied me for a moment and I tried not to flinch under the scrutiny. I knew she wanted to pry, knew she wanted to nag, knew she wanted to bother, but she was waiting for just the right moment.

I sighed. "Go ahead, mom, say what you want to say."

"I heard you and Gabriella arguing, Troy," my mother said, and now the annoyance was written all over her face. "In the middle of the night, practically yelling. You're lucky the two of you didn't wake the whole damn house."

"I'm sorry," I began to rummage through the fridge for something to make for breakfast. It appeared that someone had gone grocery shopping. "It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't happen again," my mother said angrily. "You broke her heart, Troy. It is incredibly unfair to even think about yelling at her when you were in the wrong."

"I know that, mom," I said defensively. "She started it."

Letting out an aggravated breath, my mother folded her hands. She pulled the kettle off the stove and began puttering around the cupboards, gathering tea cups and tea leaves. "Troy, I know you're hurting. I know this isn't what you want. But please, don't do this to her, to you, to us." She got very quiet and stopped moving, looking down at the box of green tea in her hands. "You know very well that this...this could be the last summer we ever have like this."

"Well, yeah," I began, "I doubt Carmen will ever come back after this year."

"Troy," my mother said tiredly. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

The silence that settled in between us seeped into my bones. I felt stiff and nervous. We were avoiding the elephant in the room, the one that had made itself comfortable in our lives over a year ago and was following us wherever we went. We didn't talk about it, at least not as much as we should. I didn't want to talk about it now.

"I know, Mama," I said quietly. "I know."

She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. "Please, for the love of everything, don't do this to us this summer. This summer means everything to your dad and I, and to Maria and Ed, too. So please, don't ruin it for us."

"You don't have anything to worry about," I said, pulling out a carton of eggs from the fridge and closing it behind me. "Gabriella and I have agreed not to talk." I glanced around the kitchen, my eyes falling on the clock. Surprisingly, it was only after eleven. "Where is everyone?"

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, my mother went back to preparing her tea. "Your father and Ed went to town to get bait and new hooks for fishing. Maria, Carmen, and I are having tea on the porch, then we're gonna go down to the beach for a while. Did you want to come?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm meeting Sharpay and Ryan at the Crab Shack in a couple of hours. Gonna catch up and stuff."

"Oh, that sounds fun!" my mother said, balancing the teapot and cups on a tray.

I dug out a pan and placed it on the stove, heating it up. As I cracked one of the eggs, I tried to be as nonchalant as possible as I phrased my next question. "So, um, where's Gabriella then?"

"Troy..."

"I'm not gonna go harass her mom," I snapped, "I'm just asking so we don't run into each other. I'm trying to make life easier for you guys."

My mom let out a sigh. "She went into town with your father and Ed. She's going to look for a job."

"Thanks," I said with a nod, and my mother frowned at me.

"I wish it wasn't like this, Troy," she said softly as she began to make her way out of the room. "I really wish it wasn't like this."

"Mom," I said, calling after her. She stopped in the doorway and looked at me.

"What?"

My throat felt tight and my mouth dry. "She's too thin."

Closing her eyes, my mother bit her lip. "I know, Troy."

And then she was gone, and I made eggs for breakfast, and tried to pretend that I wasn't worried that Gabriella had eaten that morning, and went up to shower.

* * *

><p>"Troy, oh my god!" a high pitched female voice said. "You look so good!"<p>

I counted to three in my head and then opened my arms, bracing myself for the impact. Sure enough, I was nearly knocked over as a small body hurtled itself into mine. Blonde hair was everywhere, in my hands, in my mouth, covering my eyes. I felt the wind nearly get knocked out of me, but I laughed despite it all.

Sharpay Evans. How I had missed her.

"Shar!" I said, surprising myself with how happy I sounded. "I missed you, too."

Pulling back, the small blonde grinned up at me. "Don't I look good, though, Troy?" she said, bouncing around. "I said you looked good, so tell me that I look good, too!"

I laughed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her back in for another hug. "You look gorgeous as always, Shar." Finally, someone from this town who actually seemed pleased to see me. Someone excited about my presence.

"Aw, thank you!" she said happily, "I just got a facial, mani-pedi combo. And I do you like my hair?" she shook her long locks around and one smacked me in the face lightly. "I dip dyed my hair. It's called _ombre_! See! Look at how the ends are lighter!"

I staggered back as one blonde strand of hair was pushed into my face. Sure enough the ends were almost white. I smiled as best as I could. "Looking good, Shar," I said enthusiastically. "Where's Ryan?"

"Over here!" a bored voice said, and I looked over to where Ryan Evans sat at a table for three. He was wearing a striped polo, hat, and board shorts, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but the Crab Shack. I laughed at his demeanor.

"Hey, man," I said, coming over and slapping him on the back as he stood to give me a similar greeting. "How have you been?"

Ryan shrugged. "You know. I'm a straight dance major at Julliard. Could be better, could be worse."

"Oh, come on, dude," I said, taking a seat at the table. "You're surrounded by hot girls in tights all day. Life could be so much worse."

Ryan and Sharpay Evans came up to town every summer since seventh grade. We met at a community dance thing that the town puts on every year for the fourteen and under crowd. They were standing in the corner, dressed to the nines and looking terribly out of place, and it was actually Gabriella who had befriended them. Who had pulled them onto the dance floor in a bid to get them to loosen up.

Ryan was the first to do so, having danced his entire life (and he was currently a dance major, after all), but Sharpay had taken a little more goading. I had been the one to get her to dance, to stop feeling so uncomfortable, but it had triggered her to follow me around for the rest of the summer in a puppy love trance. Eventually Gabriella dumped a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid on her head on the beach one day by accident, and Sharpay had left outraged. We didn't see her for the rest of the summer, with Ryan making excuses for her absence every time we hung out, and after that I spent time with Sharpay separately.

She was a very sweet, fun girl. Insecure as anything, and spoiled rotten, but she played a mean game of poker and was an excellent charades partner. All things considered, I liked Sharpay Evans. Even if she liked me a little bit more.

A waitress came over and took our orders; lobster rolls and Cokes, it was a tradition we had started only two summers prior between the three of us. The summer when we realized everything was changing, we just weren't fully aware of what yet. It only seemed right to try to carry it on.

"So!" Sharpay said brightly, drumming her neon pink nails on the counter. "How have you been, Troy? How has school been?"

"It's been good," I said, playing with the ice in my drink. "Not much to complain about, but not a whole lot to discuss, either. It's just school."

"Nonsense!" Sharpay said, shaking her head. "What's it like being in California? A few of my friends and I went for spring break and we loved it. I wanted to see you, but I wasn't sure if we had the same spring break or not."

I chuckled, unsure of what to say, and I swear Ryan shot me a glare. He hated Sharpay's interest in me and how little I did to squash it. I didn't really blame him for it.

"Ah, I don't know, we might have," I said, "but really, it's just school. California is cool, though. What about you guys?"

They began chatting—more Sharpay than Ryan—about the excitement that New York City and Julliard was holding for them. About the plays and musicals on Broadway and the shopping.

"I was offered an internship at _Elle_ magazine, you know," Sharpay said, slurping her Coke. "But I declined."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Oh, you know," she began, stumbling over her words. "It's not summer without this place. It wouldn't be the same..." Sharpay blushed then and I felt like running out of the room. She hadn't taken the internship cause she wanted to come up here for the summer. Cause she wanted to see me.

It was really so much easier dealing with her when Gabriella and I were together. Now it was just weird.

"Did you hear about the bonfire Saturday night?" Ryan interjected and I shot him a thankful look with my eyes. "Are you gonna go, Troy?"

"Um," I shrugged. "I hadn't heard of it? Where is it?"

"Jason Cross is throwing it. Hold on, let me pull up the text Kelsi sent me," Ryan said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and flipping through his texts. "Yeah, Jason is. It's supposed to be a lot of fun. Free alcohol, dancing, food. Everyone our age is going."

Everyone is going. That must mean that Chad Danforth was going. Which meant that Gabriella was going. "Um, I'll have to think about it."

"But Troy!" Sharpay whined. "Why wouldn't you go? It's going to be the first bonfire of the summer! You _have_ to go!"

"I just..." I paused, trailing off. "I'm not sure if it would be my scene."

"Not your scene?" Ryan asked, and for the first time he looked visibly annoyed. "Or because you mean there might be people there you don't want to see. Troy, please don't tell me you're still obsessed with Gabriella Montez."

Sharpay scoffed, frowning. "_Shut up,_ Ryan. He's not obsessed with Gabriella Montez!"

Ryan raised his hands up defensively. "I'm not saying that he is. I'm asking if he is."

"Well he isn't! He doesn't care about Gabriella anymore."

Turning to face his sister, Ryan all but glared at her. "Would you calm down, Sharpay? You're acting ridiculous. He's known her his entire life. He _lives_ with her. He dated her for two years. Obviously he still has some sort of feelings towards her."

"I don't, actually," I said, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. "It's really not that big of a deal anymore. Gabriella and I are just friends now."

A silence transcended among us at the table. I could tell neither of them believed it, but that Ryan was the only one who really wanted to question it. Sharpay, however, looked torn between being delighted and being frustrated.

"See, Ryan?" she said, folding her arms. "I told you, he's not obsessed with her. He doesn't even care about her."

Ryan raised his eyebrows and sipped his Coke, slurping the liquid through his straw noisily. "Sorry, I guess," he said, sounding annoyed, and I wondered if his annoyance was directed at me or his sister. Or both. "It's just after last summer, I figured he wouldn't be over it."

"_Ryan_!" Sharpay snapped once more, and this time she looked genuinely upset. "Why would you bring that up? What is wrong with you? You know Troy doesn't like to talk about it!"

I paused, and while my stomach was tightening at the mere memory of last summer, at how close Gabriella and I had been, and how much I loved her, and how everything fell apart before my very eyes, I tried to remain composed. "It's no big deal, Shar, I—"

"You're so inconsiderate, Ryan! Stop acting like you know everything! Troy is not in love with Gabriella, and he's not obsessed with her, and last summer is in the past! Right, Troy?"

She looked up at me, her eyes round and the softest chocolate brown imaginable. Sharpay was really pretty and I felt bad that she still harbored affection for me; that she assumed that since Gabriella was out of the picture, that maybe I would perhaps begin to return that same affection. That her teenage crush would develop into something she had been hoping for since before we had even hit puberty.

But I couldn't give that to her. Even if I wanted to, even if loving Sharpay would make my life so much easier, I didn't. And I wouldn't. I couldn't. We all knew why, and it all made sense.

"Right, Sharpay," I said evenly. "It's in the past. And I'll come to the bonfire. It's no big deal."

"_Thank you so much_," a soft voice said, and my head instantly whipped over the direction it came from. I'd know that voice anywhere. "This really means a lot to me. Thank you so much for meeting with me today."

Gabriella was standing a few tables over, shaking hands with a larger looking man with a mustache. She was wearing a soft pink button down blouse and a pair of black pants and black high heeled sandals. A strand of pearls that I recognized to be my mother's hung around her neck. She held a manila folder in her free hand.

She looked beautiful.

"It's no problem, Miss Montez!" the man was saying, smiling brightly. "You are going to be a welcome addition to the team! We are lucky to have you on board!"

They shared a laugh. "Oh, sir, I haven't even started work yet!" Gabriella said humbly. "I could drop a tray of lobster rolls. Let's see if you are saying the same thing then!"

They laughed again and I smiled to myself. Leave it to Gabriella to walk into a restaurant and get a job on the spot, on the first day of her search. She could charm the spots off of a dalmatian if she tried hard enough. She was just that kind of girl; warm, bright, happy. She lit up the room.

She and the man, who I assumed was the manager, exchanged a few more words, and then she waved and left the restaurant. Once she got outside, when she presumed no one as looking, she hugged the folder to her chest and twirled around. I felt my smile grow slightly larger. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, talking excitedly to who was on the other line.

I wondered who she was calling.

"Ahem," Sharpay's voice rang, and I looked away from the window to see she and Ryan staring at me oddly. Sharpay looked crestfallen. Ryan looked vindicated.

"What were you looking at, Troy?" Sharpay said sweetly, her voice strained. Like she hadn't just seen me watch the entire exchange between Gabriella and the manager. Like I had never smiled at the sight of her happiness.

I shrugged. "Oh, just something caught my attention."

Ryan laughed. "Oh, Bolton," he said clapping me on the shoulder, and I wondered to myself if Ryan was my friend or my enemy. "Yep, you're not obsessed."

"I know," I said.

"You're just in love."

When I didn't deny it, the tension at our table increased. We ate our lobster rolls quietly and Sharpay attempted to start up a conversation while I made planned to never frequent this restaurant again, and Ryan played _Slingo_ on his iPhone.

* * *

><p>Later that night, after dinner (which I skipped it and gone surfing instead to avoid tension), I came into the kitchen to find something to salvage together for a meal. Carmen was sitting at the table, bridal magazine open in front of her. She scowled when she saw me.<p>

"So nice of you to grace us with your presence," she said, flipping a page of the magazine, annoyed. Running a hand through my hair, I walked over to the fridge.

"You should feel honored, Carmen," I said with a smile. "It's not often that I leave my room, you know."

I heard Carmen scoff behind me, and another flip of the magazine page. "I'm not leaving the room, Troy," she exclaimed, "so you can cut the jerk act because I'm not interested in hearing it. Either be civil with me or don't talk."

I froze, looking up from the fridge and over my shoulder at the brunette seated at the table. She was looking at me with raised eyebrows and folded arms. It was like she knew everything.

Carmen and I were never close. In fact, I was pretty sure we had never had many conversations at all. Growing up she was never around, always with the older crowd that hung out on the beach, and I was always with Gabi. She was never mean to me, and we always got along fine, but she was never someone that I specifically looked forward to seeing when summer time rolled around. Though, if I was being honest, all I ever really looked forward to in the summer was Gabi.

All of that seemed to change, however, when Gabriella and I broke up. Carmen just seemed hostile towards me, but there was something about her no bullshit, straight shooter attitude that unsettled me. The way she was staring at me made me nervous, like she could tell me every detail of the entire situation, even the parts I had withheld, just by looking at me.

But Carmen was like that. She probably could. She had a mix of her mother's intuition and her older sibling instincts that made her able to read people better than others. Or maybe it was just something entirely unique to her. Regardless of the reason, I felt like I was stripped bare in that kitchen. I wanted to get out, but I knew I was stuck there.

"Did you want me just to not talk?" I asked quietly. "Cause I can do that. I just came to get something to eat, Carmen. I don't want to fight or anything."

Her face shifted, and for a moment, I swear she almost looked sympathetic. It quickly changed however, and she turned back to her magazine. "This isn't just my house, Troy," she said simply, "you're welcome to stay." She looked back up, observing me carefully. "Your hair is wet."

I nodded. "I went surfing."

"And you didn't eat dinner, did you?"

"No."

With a heavy sigh, Carmen walked over where I was standing. She placed her hands on my shoulders and led me over to the table, forcing me onto the chair. "Sit," she demanded. She dragged the magazine over so it lay in front of me. "I'll get you some leftovers and you go through that magazine and tell me what dresses you like best."

I blinked, feeling rather shellshocked, but nodded. "Um, I don't know how much help I'll be..."

"I need a male perspective on the dress, Troy," she said as she began going through the fridge's contents, pulling out foil wrapped items and things in containers. "I can't ask Alex because, well, he can't know about the dress now can he? So just let me know what you think of a couple and I'll feed you."

"Okay," I said skeptically. "Is he coming up this summer anytime soon?"

Tearing foil off of the chicken, she nodded. "He should be coming up at the end of the month. He has a few things to finish up at work, so he couldn't leave right away."

She sounded a little sad, and I realized that she probably missed him. Gabriella and I had been in a long distance relationship during the months that were not May, June, July, and August, so I understood plenty what it was like to miss someone with your whole being. "Well, he'll be here before you know it," I said optimistically, turning the pages of the magazine mindlessly.

This seemed to perk her up a bit. "I know," she said, smiling. "So what'd you do today? You know, besides go surfing to avoid seeing my sister."

I ignored the jab. "I went to the Crab Shack with Ryan and Sharpay Evans. It was...nice."

Carmen snorted. "Sharpay Evans, huh?" she turned to me, a hand on her hip. "You know she wants to get into your pants like no other, right?"

"Yeah," I said with a groan. "I don't know how to let her down, but it was weird today. Her brother was uncomfortable at least."

"And I don't blame him," Carmen said as she spooned mash potatoes onto a plate. "That girl is like a piranha and she has always liked you. Gabriella _hated_ her, oh my god."

I stiffened, remembering how Gabriella's unnecessary jealous towards Sharpay. It was difficult; I had always been friends with Sharpay, but I was always closer with Gabriella. Things grew tense sometimes, but it was never a question of who was more important in my life. Girls never really payed attention to that, though. It was the 'what ifs' that really got them going.

"She didn't need to though," I said, looking at the picture of a girl in a long white dress, trying to distract myself.

Carmen paused as she slid the plate into the microwave. "No, she didn't."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Carmen, is she okay?" I asked quietly. "I mean, is she _really _okay?"

"Honestly?" Carmen turned to face me. "No. She's not."

"She seems really thin," I said, bending a corner of the magazine. "I'm worried about her..."

"My parents make sure she eats regularly, Troy," Carmen said sternly, "but it's a lot more than that. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. It's not just her physical being that's hurting right now."

"I know," I whispered.

"And you know you're largely responsible for that, right?"

Oh, Carmen. _Always_ a straight shooter. "I know."

A beat passed between us and the microwave dinged. Carmen ran a hand through her hair and turned around, taking the plate out and placing it in front of me. Then she sat down and placed her hand on my wrist, giving it a little squeeze.

"Are _you _okay?" she asked, and I knew then that she knew everything. That she was asking about a million different issues all at once.

"No," I said simply, feeling like I was going to cry. "I'm not."

Carmen pulled the magazine in front of her. "Well then," she said, flipping a page. "What did you think of this dress?"

I was thankful for the distraction, and thankful for Carmen's company as we looked at dresses and argued over them while I ate. I appreciated that she didn't ask anymore questions, that she didn't take the conversation any further. She didn't have to.

Like I said. Carmen just knew.

* * *

><p><strong>So I suppose I just created more questions instead of answering them, right? What happened last summer? Why might this be their last summer? What will happen at the bonfire? WHAT IS SLINGO?<strong>

**I promise these answers will come eventually! Thank you so much for the support and for the wonderful response everyone! This fic is quickly becoming my baby, so I am really happy that people are enjoying it! Also, thank you to my completely insane betas and friends, Julina and Kirsten for betaing and being cheerleaders and making me feel so good about this fic. I love you guys! *mushy***

**I do have a question, though. Dear anon named uRsTuPiD. You left a review saying there are great writers...and there there's me. I am unsure, coupled with your UN, whether or not this is a good or bad review! Are you saying I am the best writer in existence? Or are you saying I am the worst on the planet? Please do let me know because I am desperately curious, and my friends and I were unable to draw a conclusion as to whether this was positive or not!**

**Tracks up at my journal for this chapter! Enjoy!**


	3. But Oh, Those Summer Nights

**I Love You More Than French Fries**

Chapter Three: But Oh, Those Summer Nights

"_You're so stupid and perfect, and stupid and perfect. I hate you, I want you, I hate you, I hate you again, again, again_."

- Again and Again by The Bird and the Bees

* * *

><p>One of the things I loved most about my summer was that July was my birthday month. Three weeks after we arrived at the summer house, we'd celebrate my birthday, usually with a small party. There'd be cake, balloons, and good food courtesy of Jack. I enjoyed having my birthday fall in the summer, mostly because it meant I got to spend it with the people I loved most. My family, the Boltons, Chad, and most importantly, Troy. I loved that I got to spend it with Troy.<p>

Troy loved giving gifts. He loved putting thought into it, deciding what a person would want based on their needs and interests. He thought gift cards were a cop out, a symbol for not knowing people. For not caring enough to pick out a gift; a way of saying they'd have to do it themselves. I swear, I had never met anyone who took gift giving as seriously as him. But one of the first things he'd ask me on our first night at the summer house, in between popcorn and Monopoly, was what I'd like for my birthday. I'd always smile shyly and say I'd like anything he'd give me, and he'd blush and roll his eyes, and we'd continue on.

But Troy gave the best gifts. A giant panda bear when I was ten because I thought it was amusing how it was almost the same size as me. A kaleidoscope when I was twelve and started taking a liking to art class. A seashell necklace when I was thirteen and got my lifeguard license (that I never put to use). He named a star after me when I was sixteen and I kissed him under the night sky for hours as a thank you.

He gave me nothing last year.

I should have known that was the beginning of the end. The time when everything started to change. Troy loved giving gifts and he loved me, so why did he suddenly not have the time? It hurt, it stung, and it killed me.

After a while though, it just became another thing to file away into the list of things he had done to hurt me. Then things got really bad and summer was over and we broke up. And then it was time to move on.

It's easy to tell people you're over it. To laugh it off, to smile, to dance and behave as if things don't hurt. It's easy. The hard part is realizing that you're not over it. Letting yourself heal.

Letting yourself heal feels impossible.

I had gone to every length there was to get rid of Troy Bolton in my life. I deleted him from my Facebook; I didn't want to know what he was doing and who he was doing it with. I erased all of his text messages and contact information from my phone. I took down all of his pictures. I packed up all of the things he had ever given me- the panda bear, seashells, jewelry, drawings, everything. Packed up in boxes and put them away in the attic, far from where I could reach them. Far from where I could think of them. I removed the playlists of songs that reminded me of him from my computer, told everyone it didn't hurt, and threw myself into moving on.

And it worked. For the most part.

One time, just a few months before we left to go to the summer house, a few friends and I were heading to the party. It was a simple, typical college house party; more bags of weed and cases of cheap beer than I could recall, and girls in tacky skin tight dresses that they deemed cute. It wasn't exactly my scene, but sometimes I felt that outside of summer, I didn't really have a scene. So I mostly just went with anything.

"Ella," my friend Hannah said to me from her place in front of my mirror, as she coated her lips with bright, hot pink lipstick. I loved Hannah. We met in art class in ninth grade and instantly became best friends. She was funny, athletic, but still smart, and had a great sense of style. She was also completely gorgeous, with long, wavy red hair, pale skin, and big green eyes. She had the figure of a model; tall and paper-thin. I was constantly jealous of it.

"Yeah?" I asked from my spot on the bed. I had been ready and dressed for the party for almost forty-five minutes now. My make up and hair routine was a lot less fussy than Hannah's.

Placing her lipstick down, she peered at me. I lowered my magazine and raised my eyebrows, completely aware that she was inspecting me. "Stand up, Ella."

Everyone from home called me Ella. No one called me that at the summer house. It was always Gabi, sometimes Gabs. But Ella sounded prettier, more feminine, more fairytale like. And that appealed to Hannah and the other girls I hung out with. So when they called me Ella, I didn't correct them, but it never really felt like a perfect fit.

I stood up and did a little twirl for her so she could inspect my outfit. Navy blue dress with white polka dots, a thin brown belt clinching it in around the waist. Black tights and brown oxfords. I liked what I was wearing and wasn't really looking forward to having to fight for wearing it. There was no way I'd be wearing a dress made out of spandex tonight (even though I owned a couple). "What, Hannah?" I said warily, "I like this."

Hannah nodded, her strawberry-blonde curls bobbing. "No, I like it, too!" she said, placing a finger on her lip. "There's just something missing. Do you have a necklace you could wear with it? Like a long one?"

Ever the fashionista, Hannah was a budding stylist (it was her one true dream and aspiration) and thoroughly enjoyed critiquing people's outfits and giving out tips. I didn't mind, really. She said it in a kind, genuinely helpful way, and she really did have an eye for style.

I glanced down at my outfit and realized she was right. My outfit did need something. "You're right," I said, walking over to my vanity where my jewelry box lay. "I have this feather pendant that would look good. Or maybe some earrings?"

"Oh!" Hannah cooed, adjusting the hemline of her chiffon skirt. "Earrings would be cute, too!"

I pulled open the drawer of my jewelry box and began digging through the contents. It was then that it caught my eye, in the very back of the drawer; hidden as if I had put it there for safe keeping.

Only I hadn't. I thought I had put it away along with everything else.

Tangled up in the corner was the necklace Troy had given me. The one from all of those years ago, the simple black string and seahorse pendant staring back at me. With shaking fingers, I reached in and pulled it out.

I ran my fingers over the seahorse, feeling my throat tighten. I felt Hannah creep up behind me, and she leaned over my shoulder to get a better look at what I was holding.

"Um," she furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't know if that will really go with that outfit, Ella," she said sweetly. "It's a little...summerish."

And that was all it took. I swallowed thickly, feeling my eyes prick with tears. "No, I, it's not..." I trailed off, my chin quivering. "I, um."

"Oh my god, Ella!" Hannah said, wrapping her arms around me, "What is it! Why are you crying?"

A few tears slipped out of my eyes as I clutched the necklace to my chest, feeling very small and very hurt. It felt like someone had hollowed out my insides, like there was nothing there. Like a punch to the gut. "Troy...gave this to me," I managed, and Hannah's grip instantly tightened.

"Oh, Gabriella."

Just like that, I realized I wasn't over it. I could pretend I was because pretending was easy. But all it took was one little reminder, one tiny little object to bring back years of memories, years of feelings. Years of pain. It hurt all over again.

All of the hurt I had boxed up, it was back, just like it had never left. But it hadn't, anyway. I could shove it from my mind, it but didn't mean it was gone. I hadn't healed, I had just postponed the hurt.

Eventually, Hannah pried the necklace from my hands and we sat on my floor, her arm around me as I cried so hard, I shook. Cried until my throat hurt. We didn't go to the party that night. Instead we sat in my room and watched _Space Jam_ which brought on more tears because it reminded me that Troy played basketball.

And it reminded me that he was someone I loved, and that that was something I had tried so desperately to forget.

* * *

><p>The smell of pancakes is what dragged me out of my bed the next morning. It was sweet, floating through the air and calling me to come wake up. I could imagine them, fluffy and warm, sitting in stacks as tall as Jack could make them. There would be maple syrup, too, and honey, and strawberries and blueberries. My mouth filled with saliva at the mere thought.<p>

The first pancakes of the summer.

It was tradition, just like so many other things at the summer house. Sometime during the first week of arrival, Jack would cook up a huge batch of pancakes, and we would all eat together. Even Carmen in her teenage years, mascara smudged under her eyes and hungover from the parties on the beach, would find a seat at the table and shove as many into her mouth as she could without throwing up later. It was a sign that we were all settled in; that summer was here and here to stay for eight weeks and that we were together.

This year was different, though. I noticed it at dinner last night at dinner, as I excitedly told everyone about my job at the Crab Shack. Troy wasn't there. Everyone took note, though no one said anything. My mom asked where he was half way through the meal, quietly and carefully, as if his name was forbidden to speak or something. Lucille had smiled and said that Troy hadn't been hungry.

I knew that was a lie.

Troy was avoiding scenarios in which we could be in the same room, same breathing area. In short, he was avoiding me. But that was what I had wanted, wasn't it? In the middle of our viscous fighting, hadn't I said that I didn't want to speak to him, to see him? All to make it easier on our parents, or so I said. He was making it easier, wasn't he?

Still, it felt wrong.

_Would Troy even go to breakfast?_ I wondered. _Or would he forgo it to avoid me?_ As much as Troy changed, and as much as I hated him, I knew that he was the type of guy who wouldn't go back on his word. He would avoid me; he wouldn't go to breakfast, because I had wanted it that way, because he had agreed to it. The thought felt wrong.

I took a moment to get my bearings in order before sitting up. It was hot out, hotter than usual, and my t-shirt was sticking to my back in a really uncomfortable way. I felt irritated as I gathered my long hair into a ponytail and grabbed a hair-tie from my bedside table, tying it up in a knot on my head. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I took a deep breath.

The smell of pancakes was starting to make me sick. I thought of them, round, perfect, and slightly sweet and felt sick. Their consistency would be too much for my stomach to handle, and at most, I'd probably eat two. Plain, with no fruit or syrup. My father would shove more on my plate without my asking and my mother would frown the entire meal. Just like that, with everything else this summer, the pancake breakfast seemed less than appealing. It didn't make sense for me to go to it.

On my way to the bathroom I decided I was going to skip the breakfast. It was too much of a hassle to force food down my throat and it was also unfair to Troy. It wasn't fair that he didn't get to experience this summer because of me. I didn't want to be around him, but I didn't want that.

As I opened the door, I stepped into the hallway, only wanting to run back in upon seeing Troy step out of the bathroom. His hair was tousled, sticking up in every direction, and there was a line on his cheek from the crease of his sheets. He was also only wearing a pair of plaid pyjama pants, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, his bare torso was incredibly distracting.

He nodded in my direction and began to make his way down the hallway. As I watched his back retreat, I felt something in me snap, and I couldn't help it. "Troy! Wait!" I called and he froze, turning around and staring at me with wide eyes.

"I thought we weren't talking..." he said slowly. He seemed tired, but Troy always seemed tired. He was constantly moving, constantly doing something. Sleep wasn't in his agenda, it didn't fit his lifestyle. Sleep was a burden to him.

So many things were a burden to Troy.

"We aren't," I replied quickly, folding my arms. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm not coming down for breakfast."

Troy frowned. "But dad made pancakes. I was just going to grab some and go back to my room. You go eat, I'll skip it."

I shook my head. "No, I'll skip it. You skipped dinner last night, so this time it's my turn."

Sighing, Troy shook his head. "I'd rather not. You go. Really."

"I'm not going, Troy," I said, annoyed now. Why couldn't he just take what I was offering him? Why did he have to make everything so frustrating? Nothing was simple with him. "So just go and have breakfast with our families."

"Gabriella—"

"Troy, I don't even want pancakes," I said quickly, "so there's really no point in going down cause everyone is just going to shove food in my face and it will be a big thing when I don't want to eat them. So just go."

We were silent then, and even though I thought it wasn't possible, my stomach clenched even tighter. I shouldn't have brought that up. Almost instantly, I could see him stiffen, could see his face grow somber, and concerned and a million other emotions I was fairly certain he didn't harbor for me anymore. It must have been out of habit.

"Gabi," he said softly, stepping closer to me. I hadn't noticed, but during our argument, we had shifted closer and closer to one another. Suddenly he was standing in front of me, just a few feet away. If I reached my arm out, I would touch him. I shivered at the thought.

"What?" I asked, feeling emotional for reasons I didn't even understand. "What do you want?"

"You have been eating, right?"

The way he said it made me want to slap him in the face. I hated the way he acted like he still cared. Like I still mattered. Like any of this mattered.

"Yes!" I spit, angry. "Troy, I lost a few pounds this year, okay? I took up yoga. I eat plenty, everyone makes sure. Just because I don't feel like eating any pancakes doesn't mean anything!"

Troy's mouth moved into a stiff line. "Fine," he said, turning on his heel, and I felt the shift in the air as he moved further and further away from me. "Don't eat breakfast. Then I won't either."

"Fine!" I said, feeling like stamping my foot in frustration. "You try to do something nice for someone, and they throw it back in your face!" I called after him as his bedroom door closed shut behind him. The sounds of The Black Keys began to filter through his walls and I knew the conversation was over.

Paddling into the bathroom, I turned on the shower and let the steam fill up the room as I slowly undressed. I looked in the mirror at my reflection and realized I looked tired, too. I had dark circles and pale skin, the epitome of poor health. But unlike Troy, I wasn't used to it. I was a routine kind of person, getting eight hours of sleep every night. A lack of sleep didn't sit well with me.

I looked away and went into the shower, washing away the frustration of the past couple of days and focusing on the good the rest of the day was going to bring.

When I went downstairs, there was no one else in the kitchen and I felt a pang in my chest. I walked over to the fridge, and inside there was a plate, stacked high with about a dozen pancakes, wrapped up on the top shelf.

* * *

><p>"So what do you think the key to winning Taylor McKessie's heart is?" Chad asked, laying on his stomach as he sprawled out on the beach towel. "I mean, she's obviously a hard egg to crack, so to speak, but there's gotta be some kind of in I can get, right? And I mean <em>in<em> in both the innocent and not so innocent ways, if you get what I am saying."

I groaned, flipping a page of my magazine and rolling my eyes. "Sometimes being best friends with a guy is completely grating," I said, pausing on an article about how to get your best tan. "I mean, not only do you never say a word about my outfits, but on top of that, you ask me about how to score chicks. Do I look like the kind of girl who can actually help you with stuff like that?"

"I'm pretty sure," Chad said, adjusting his sunglasses on his head, "that you agreed to help me, number one, and number two, you do look like the kind of girl that would help me with stuff like that."

Raising my eyebrows, I slid my own sunglasses down my nose and looked at him. "I am sorry, but what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Chad began slowly, "that you are the world's go to advice girl. You offer help as best as you can without any judgment regarding any topic because you just can't stand to let people down. Ergo, you will help me."

I snorted and Chad glared. "What?"

"I am just surprised you use words like ergo is all," I said with a casual shrug. "I didn't realize that you were actually getting your money's worth from your university education."

Chad didn't say anything for a moment and instead just sat there glaring at me. Then, so fast I couldn't stop him, he grabbed his bottle of water, undid the cap, and poured it's ice cold contents all over my back. I yelped and rolled over onto the sand, trying to relive myself from the sudden cool that settled over my body.

"Danforth!" I yelled, "I'm definitely not helping you now!"

I stood up, my body covered in sand and my back dripping wet. I frowned, looking down at my damp towel and ruined magazine. "You jerk, you wrecked my magazine, too."

Chad had picked me up mid-morning and declared that we were spending the afternoon at the beach. I hadn't protested, happy to get out of the house and away from the growing tension. It wasn't just between Troy and I, but I could feel it seeping out to other corners of the house, and I wanted to avoid it at all costs. So I grabbed my favourite blue bikini, some denim shorts, my towel, and sunscreen, and I bolted out of there.

We had been there a couple of hours now, and I was fairly certain that my tan was turning into a burn. Although it would fade into a tan in a day or so, I still didn't want to deal with the discomfort, so I found myself re-apply sunscreen more often than I normally would. It was so hot today.

"Whatever, suck it up, Princess," Chad said, leaning over into his own bag and pulling out a fresh bottle of water, along with his cell phone. "So help me out with Taylor, okay?"

Tossing my now useless magazine to the side, I pushed my sunglasses up my nose and rested my head on my arms as I gazed out to the beach. "Well, what does she like?" I asked.

"She likes...Jane Austin and stuff," he began. "At least that's what her Facebook says."

I laughed. "Jane Austin? You're screwed, buddy."

Chad furrowed his brow. "What? Why?"

"Jane Austen books rely heavily on strong female characters who don't want to fall in love," I explained, my eyes running over the people in the water. Small children played along the water's edge, running away from waves as they splashed up on the shore. Groups of teenagers splashed each other in the water, while other groups sat along the sand and watched the surfers go by. Nothing was catching my interest. "However, the males in her books are always swoon worthy, and their tales always very romantic, and you, Chad, are neither."

Letting out a sound of protest, Chad sat up. "How dare you! I bought Becky Richardson dinner every time we went out!"

"You went to McDonalds."

"That's not the point!"

Laughing to myself, I looked back out at the water, my eyes falling on one surfer. Not too tall, broad shoulders, tan skin, blue board shorts with a perfect form. I felt my heart stop.

It was Troy.

It was like all of the blood had rushed out of my body, as if my heart had stopped pumping. Here we were, trying to avoid each other in our cramped home, and we still ended up at the same beach. Did he know I was going to be here? I had told our parents were I was going. I had left before him, hadn't I? Though I suppose if he did I wouldn't know, given our avoidance and all.

He looked gorgeous, I couldn't even deny it. Troy loved surfing; it was the kind of sport that came naturally to him. So many summers he had tried to teach me, and while I could get up on the board and ride the weakest of waves, I never took to it. I was content just to watch him for hours on end anyway. He would wake me up early in the morning and we would spend all morning on the beach, him surfing, me watching. Sometimes I'd join him, just because I could, and it was one more thing we could share together.

Seeing him now, it was like I could close my eyes and I was sixteen again. Only he was different; he was no longer lanky with long hair. He was a man now and damn, he looked good. If his bare torso wasn't distracting this morning in the hallway, it certainly was now in the bright sunlight, with water glistening off of the muscles on his stomach and chest, off of his arms and ugh, he was so good looking. Why did his outsides have to be so attractive and his insides so ugly?

There were times I was convinced that I was never going to move on, purely because his beauty kept dragging me back in.

"I can't believe you're doing what I think you're doing right now," Chad's voice cut back in, and I glanced away quickly from Troy. I shot Chad a confused glance.

"You can't believe I'm listening to you talk?"

"What did I just say then, if you're listening to me?" Chad asked, looking annoyed.

I smiled innocently. "You were talking about how hot Taylor is..."

"No!" Chad said, and I could tell he really was annoyed. "I was talking about the sexual undertones of Disney movies, just to see if you were listening."

"You were not," I narrowed my eyes.

"Yes, I was," Chad sat up, propping up his knees and resting his elbows on them. "And all the while you were checking out Troy Bolton."

I blinked, feigning ignorance. "He's here?" I looked out to the water, as if searching for him.

"Don't give me that act!" Chad snapped. "Gabriella, I can't believe you're still ogling Bolton like he is some piece of meat."

My mouth dropped open. "I am not!"

Chad groaned. "Yes, you are, Gabriella." He pointed out to the water, where Troy was still surfing. "That guy broke your heart last summer, Gabriella. He fucked you up. He's no good for you, and yet you're still looking at him like he's worth something. He's not."

I swallowed, my head feeling heavy. "I am not, Chad, I was just looking out at the water. You're just assuming it was Troy. I hadn't even noticed he was there."

"Don't do this to yourself, Gabi," Chad said softly, and I knew he was genuinely worried. After all, he had been hurt by Troy, too. "He's not worth it."

I didn't say anything for a moment, debating about how I could respond to this. Instead, I took a deep breath. "I got a job at the Crab Shack, by the way!" I said brightly. "I don't know if I told you! I start on Monday."

It was Chad's turn not to say anything. He knew when talking was too much for me, like right now, so he simply sighed and laid back down on his towel. I felt bad for deflecting the situation, but I barely understood it. How could I be expected to talk about it?

"I'll let you change the subject because I love you," Chad said, "and I know that despite everything, you really are trying to move on. And also because Bolton won't be at the bonfire tonight, so we won't have anything to worry about in that regard, so we can forget him for at least a few hours."

"Thank you," I said, feeling more relaxed. "I appreciate it."

Chad shrugged. Another beat passed between us, before he stood up. "I'm gonna go get some ice cream. You want?"

I shook my head, "No. Thanks, though."

When I glanced back out at the water, Troy was gone.

* * *

><p>Jason Cross was one of the most wealthy kids who came up for the summer. His house was the largest and right on the best part of the beach. He drove around in a flashy convertible and wore Lacoste polos like they were going out of style. He probably had the IQ of a small animal, but he was kind and had a good sense of humor, so these qualities paired with his wealth made him a popular and welcome face among people our age.<p>

Most importantly, though, was his parents continued absence. They were both lawyers, and busy ones at that, having to go back to the city at least once every ten days. This of course made his gorgeous property available for parties and he made sure this opportunity was used and often. To some extent, we were all thankful for it.

The bonfire was taking place on the beach where a medium sized group of people had congregated. Chad had been wrong about a couple of things, though. Number one, Taylor McKessie wasn't even there, so any chance he had of hooking up with her was gone. Number two, in addition to kegs, Jason had also supplied a cooler full of juice and vodka, and people were taking turns mixing drinks in red paper cups. Third and most important, Troy was there, and Sharpay Evans was sitting beside him, her hand on his knee as she laughed uproariously at something he was saying.

I bet it wasn't even funny.

Standing off to the side, I was nursing a cranberry and vodka when he came up to me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, Ryan Evans looked exactly the same as he did the last time I had seen him. He smiled and waved. "Hi, Gabriella!"

"Ryan!" I said, my voice laced with mock enthusiasm. Upon seeing Troy seated by the fire, I had immediately taken to the free alcohol being passed around. It was definitely starting to make it's presence known in my behavior.

I had never liked drinking, at least not as much as the average person my age did, so this was a rare occasion for me. I was a social drinker, I suppose, but I was definitely a fan of the escape it gave me. It lowered my inhibitions though, made me more emotional in ways I didn't like because they gave me even less control than I already possessed. Tonight however, was a special occasion in that the numbing effect of the alcohol was doing me a world of good while trying to ignore Sharpay's girlish, flirtatious giggles.

I wanted to scratch her eyes out.

Focusing on her brother, I tried to ignore the fact that I never really liked him either. Ryan was definitely the one I preferred out of the pair, but there was something about them and their attitudes that rubbed me the wrong way. Something about them that said they came up to their summer house not because they wanted to, but because they were forced to. Like their parents had made them for some form of family bonding time. I came up to the summer house because I loved it, and I couldn't understand anyone who treated it like a burden.

Plus they were vain and stubborn, walking around in monogrammed clothing (seriously, who does that?) and Sharpay had always been into Troy, and I always hated that. It was so much easier to deal with when we were together. Just like so much else.

But for the sake of the bonfire and for the sake of trying to move on, I grinned like I was so excited to see him that I couldn't even handle it. The alcohol was definitely helping in that regard. "How have you been?"

Ryan looked at me oddly and I knew almost immediately that he wasn't buying into my fake happiness. "I've been good," he said slowly, as if testing the words. "Busy with school and stuff."

"Ah, yes!" I said loudly. A little too loudly, perhaps. "You go to Julliard! Sounds fun!"

"It is..." he looked at me strangely, and I wondered why he had even bothered to come talk to me. I think he was as fond of me as I was of him. "How about you? How have you been?"

There it was; the kind of sympathy everyone gives to someone who has just gone through a bad break up. The kind that says they are worried that you have given up your faith in love and might also be suicidal. I hated that more than I hated Sharpay.

As if on cue, she took that moment to giggle and I scowled. Okay, maybe not more than Sharpay.

"I've been good!" I lied. "Never better!"

"Okay..." Ryan trailed off, his eyes following my gaze to where his sister and Troy were standing. "Ah," he said, looking back at me. "Well, now I know that's a lie."

I glared at him. "Oh, really now?"

Ryan smiled at me. "Calm down, Gabi, I'm not trying to make an enemy out of you. I'm sorry my sister is the way that she is...she doesn't. She's trying to look past it."

"Look past what?" I asked, annoyed. I still didn't understand why Ryan was talking to me, my heart was aching, and I was starting to feel really drunk. How many drinks had I had? Was this my third? No, it was definitely at least my fourth. Maybe even my fifth.

He sighed and looked at me with those same sympathetic eyes. "That Troy is still in love with you."

I felt my stomach fall to my feet and wanted to run away. "No, he's not."

"Okay, maybe he's not," Ryan shrugged. "But we all know that you two have a history, you live together, and you'll always place first in Troy's life, or at least when it comes to the two of you. She just unfortunately loves him, too."

I watched as Sharpay's pink fingernails slid into his hair and I cringed. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to get out.

"Well, tell your sister she can have him," I said bitterly, "but she should be careful. He's a real piece of work that one." Downing the rest of my drink, I crumpled the paper cup and tossed it into a trash bin, before grabbing a bottle of beer and making my way down the beach, away from the party and away from Sharpay Evans and Troy fucking Bolton.

I hated them.

Just as I got a decent way away from the party, however, I heard someone call after me. "Gabriella!" I froze in my tracks. I knew that voice.

It was Troy.

Turning around slowly, I pulled my sweater tighter around my body, glaring at him. "What do you want?" I asked bitterly, "Where's Sharpay?"

"Back at the party," Troy frowned. "What do you think you're doing, wandering off by yourself?"

"I am going over there!" I pointed in no particular direction, "and I'll tell you why! It's cause you're here, and not over there, and over there is nicer because you are not there!"

Troy pressed a hand to his forehead. "You're drunk."

I looked him over, taking in his bloodshot eyes and recalled the beer I had seen him drinking, too. "You're drunk, too, so your analysis is invalid!"

He paused and I realized he couldn't think of anything to say in retaliation. He gaped at me before continuing. "Well, you just admitted you're drunk, so doesn't that say it all?"

"No!" I spat, "It doesn't! You're more drunk than I am!"

"How do you know?"

"Cause you followed me!" I lifted my beer and took a long drink, the taste relaxing me. "If you were sober, you never would have followed me! Never!"

Troy ran a hand through his hair, aggravated. "Gabi, let's get you home."

"No!" I protested, walking over to him. I pushed at his chest with my finger. "Get something straight, mister, you are not the boss of me. You have no claim over me! You are not my boyfriend, you are not my father, you are not even my friend. Therefore, you can go shove it because I am staying here on this beach."

I chugged the rest of my beer and Troy snatched it out of my hands, angry. He poured out the remainder and I stared up at him in shock.

"What did you do that for?" I yelped, staring at the sand as if the liquid would magically reappear. "I was drinking that!"

"So I noticed!" he responded, "You're drunk as a skunk and when we get home, both our parents are going to blame me. I'll have to take the fall for your stupid actions because you don't know when to stop."

Throwing my hands up, I let out a shriek of frustration. "Oh, get over it, Troy! I didn't even know you'd be here tonight! I was just having fun!"

"Too much fun—"

"You're drunk, too—"

"Not as drunk as you!"

"Oh, yeah?" I came and stood right in front of him, looking him straight in the eye. It had been a while since I had last done this, especially for extended periods of time, and the feeling it was giving me was making me queasy. "Why are you even at the bonfire, Troy? You're not even friends with Jason!"

Troy stiffened. "Sharpay and Ryan invited me."

I threw my head back and laughed. "Oh. Sharpay! Of course it was Sharpay! She was draped all over you all night! Gonna get lucky tonight, Bolton?"

"It's not like that..."

"Then what is it like, Troy?" I inched even closer, "cause last time I checked, you certainly had no trouble avoiding her affections, and now you're one step away from having her tongue in your mouth!"

Rolling his eyes, Troy stepped back, creating space between us. "You know what? I don't have time for this. You do what you want."

"No!" I yanked on his arm. "Honestly, fuck you! You don't get to always decide when our conversations are over! You don't always get to have the last word!"

He pulled his arm out of my grasp. "And you do? You're the one who decided we weren't going to talk at all. The one who decided we should play this game of hide and never seek!"

"And that's cause you suggested it! You do know you call all of the shots, right Troy?" I looked up at him with blurry eyes. "You're the one who decides when we're off and when we're on and when we're talking and when we're not. And I hate it!"

"Gabriella—"

"No!" I stopped, feeling the tears on my face. "It's what you do. You followed me out here, I didn't ask you to! And then you throw everything in my face. Over and over again. I am so exhausted, Troy! I don't want to this anymore. I told you, I don't want to talk to you."

Troy closed the space between us, and he was so close, I could feel his breath on my face. "Then what do you want?"

I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of him. It made me anxious and calm all at once. "I don't want to talk."

He swallowed and I heard him give out a breath. "Okay..."

"So just shut up and kiss me."

And like that, our mouths were connected in a mash of lips, tongue, and teeth. It had to have been the alcohol; nothing would ever make me this bold normally, and nothing would make me want to do this. Maybe it was also the tension was getting too much to bare, and I didn't know how to handle it. All I did know was that his lips still felt the same and he still kissed as good as he did last summer.

"Gabriella," he broke away from me and I was pleased to see my lipstick smeared across his lips. "I—"

"I said don't talk."

The next thing I felt were his hands wrapping around my waist and my knees buckling as we fell to the sand beneath us, our mouths never detaching.

* * *

><p><strong>Ah, I answered no questions this chapter. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW? They've still got a lonnnnnng way to go. Also they are drunk off their faces right now, so keep that in mind. Next chapter is Troy's POV, with more of the bonfire, and stuff!<strong>

**Thank you so much for the lovely response so far! I'm loving reading your thoughts and theories!**

**Thank you to my absolutely insane betas, Julina and Kirsten. Can't do without them!**


	4. After the Boys of Summer Have Gone

**I Love You More Than French Fries**

Chapter 4: After the Boys of Summer Have Gone

"_Thought you'd be forever the same, when did you become so easy to change? There will be no unguarded kisses. Let go of my hand when they're around; they say I'm unsound, but what do they know? They can't figure out how to get us down_."

- Swing by Zero 7

* * *

><p>My mother owned a small gift shop in town. It was her pride and joy, her baby, if you will. I sometimes felt like she loved that place more than she loved me or my dad or Helen. She put so much time and effort it into, making sure that things were just so, that everything was right, and that there was no room for error. I used to joke that she worried more about the budget and paint in the boutique than she did about filling her children's stomachs.<p>

After a while, of course, the joke wasn't funny anymore, and I stopped saying it.

The gift shop mainly catered to women. It was one of those shops that supported local artists and designers, walls filled with artwork that wasn't particularly good, but wasn't particularly terrible. A young university student sold her jewelry at the shop, and it sold rather well. An old woman came by once a week with jars of jam. It was a real community place, one that was in all of the tour books and it turned a pretty decent profit for the goods that it sold. More than anything, though, more than the money and more than the items for sale, the gift shop was my mother's pride and joy.

She loved that she could bring people together, that she could help people out. My mother was like that, always looking to make sure everyone was happy and that everyone had what they needed. I think in those days at the summer house, that was what was most important to her. That we were all together, safe and happy under one roof. I was fairly certain that was what was killing her the most about that summer; not so much that Gabriella and I were fighting, but because it was throwing everything off kilter. We weren't together, and we were making the whole family crumble.

The fact that this could really be the last time we were all together, and that she was trying so desperately to make it all seem like everything was salvageable, I think that was what wore her down the most.

Desperation. It was in my mother's face everyday now, but there had been a time when I hadn't the slightest clue of the meaning of the word. I knew the definition, of course, but I didn't know what it meant. What it felt like. What could it possibly feel like? Being at the end of your rope like that.

My mother employed only four other people at the shop. There was herself, the store owner, who took care of books and budgets and such, an assistant manager to do those things when my mother couldn't, and three sales associates. They were all students; one girl in high school, and two in college; a boy and a girl. I didn't know them well, or at all, really. The only time I ever really popped into the shop was when I needed something from my mom. I think she liked it better that way; that it was her home away from home. I was never sure whether or not this fact made me bitter or made me indifferent, but it never sat well with me. The idea that she'd need an escape from us, especially since she liked us all being together, bothered me. Yet as I got older, and the situation seemed more grave, I guess I started to understand that aspect better.

It all started the year I was eighteen. I had just graduated from high school, and there were too many months until I left for California and university, and too many days until we left for the summer house and Gabriella. Time couldn't go by fast enough.

I came by the shop on one of those rare occasions to pick my mother up. My father had been running around with Helen all day, and her car was in the shop, so I was the designated driver. I came in through the back entrance just as she was counting up her figures for the day.

She was sitting in at her desk in the back office, her lips pressed together and confusion written across her face. I frowned as I knocked on the door frame. "Everything okay, Ma?"

"Oh!" she spun around in her chair, startled by my appearance. "Troy! You scared me!"

I smiled at her and laughed. "Come on, Ma, it's quitting time!" I said, coming up beside her and sitting on the corner of the desk. "We gotta get home ASAP. Gabriella's gonna call me and I don't really wanna miss it."

My mother smiled softly, looking at me in that way that made me regret what I had said. She loved to tease me about Gabriella. "Don't worry, Romeo, we'll be out of here in a few minutes. It's just...there seems to be some money missing and I can't figure out why..."

Sighing, I came over and picked up one of the papers on my mother's desk. She was terrible with numbers, and my dad was always telling her to hire an accountant to take care of the mathematical stuff, but she insisted that she do it herself. It was times like this that I could definitely see his side of the story.

"Mom, you know you're no good at math," I said, flicking over the numbers on the sheet and running them through my head. "You really should have someone else take a look at it. I'm sure it's just something unaccounted for."

I glanced over the papers more thoroughly, trying to organize and work through them in my brain. But my mother was right; something was missing. I double checked it. Something was still not right.

Regardless, I told my mom to look over the next day because I couldn't figure it out. I blamed it on her handwriting, even though I just didn't want to be the one to break it to her that something was seriously wrong. It was one thing to suspect something was off yourself, but it was another to have someone confirm it. Mostly, I wanted to get home. Get to my phone. Get to Gabriella. So I told my mom to clear her head, look over it over the next few days, and maybe things would all work out.

How selfish I was.

My mother came home a few days later looking like she aged five years in the course of the eight hours she had worked. She seemed tired, and it was obvious to me that she had been crying. From my spot on the living room couch, I told Gabriella I'd be right back over IM, and then followed my mother into the kitchen to investigate further.

It was then that she told me she had discovered the reason behind the missing money at her store. She said it weakly, sadly, and I felt the way you do when you first realize your parents are human as a young child. Realize that they feel things just as strongly as you do, and that they aren't quite invincible. She explained to me slowly, a hand pressed to her forehead, that one of the girls had been stealing from her. "Rebecca," she said plainly. "I checked on the security camera this afternoon and found footage of her sneaking bills into her shoes."

This took me by surprise. My mother cared very deeply about the students she had employed at her shop, and they seemed to care just as much about her. "Rebecca?" I asked, conjuring up an image of her in my head. "The university student?" The thought that any of them could steal, especially from my mother seemed improbable.

"That's the one," my mom said with a nod, as she walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. "I had to...dismiss her. God, I feel terrible. I shouldn't have fired her, I should have...figured out something to make this work. Make her situation better. I could tell that she wasn't herself this past month, and I hadn't the slightest clue why. If she had just told me that it was a money issue, I would have gladly given her a raise, an advance, _something_."

I leaned against the kitchen counter, processing the information. I shrugged, feeling like I should feel more sympathetic towards Rebecca, but finding it hard. She was a student, she had bills to pay, ends to meet, and her mouth to feed. But she still stole, was still dishonest. And it was towards my mother, and that was where my loyalty lied. "I guess she felt like she had no choice," I said softly.

My mother sighed, pouring herself a glass of wine. "I guess so. Desperation," she said with a humorless chuckle, raising the glass to her lips. "It goes some crazy things to people."

I told my mother I was sorry and went back to my laptop, where I gave Gabriella a run down of what had happened. She expressed her shock and upset towards my mother, and told me to tell her that Gabriella was so, so, _so_ (emphasis on the extra so's) sorry.

"_I can't imagine ever being that desperate_," I had written to Gabriella that night, "_feeling that like you're at the end of your rope_."

A couple of seconds later, a reply from Gabriella popped up, lighting up the screen. "_Me neither_," she admitted. "_I guess we live pretty charmed lives, huh_?"

"_I guess so_," I typed back, deliberating. What would it be like, to feel desperate? To feel like you had no choice but to do something you completely disagreed with? Would it eat you alive inside? Or would you eventually get used to the feeling? I didn't want to dwell on it. I never wanted to feel like that ever.

"_I hope we never feel like that,_" Gabriella said a moment later, as if she and I were sharing one conscious stream of thought.

"_Ditto_," I replied, letting the feeling sink it. That wouldn't happen, not to us. Gabriella and I, we were different. We were lucky, charmed, smart. Desperation wasn't something we were going to encounter, together or apart.

But we did. We learned how to be desperate. Learned what it felt like.

These days, feeling desperate was all I knew.

* * *

><p>She tasted just like I remembered. Like cherry chapstick, honey, and mint. I assumed she also tasted like alcohol, since I was fairly certain the stuff was oozing out of her pores, but I couldn't tell. I was too far gone myself, far too intoxicated to drive and entirely regretful that I was going to have to leave my truck on the beach overnight, even if it was just a few blocks from our house.<p>

I kissed her lips eagerly, greedily, like a man deprived. But I _was_ deprived. For so long, I had been without this, been without the taste and smell and feel of Gabriella Montez, and God, how I had ached for it. There had been times when I had wanted her so badly, I felt like I was going to combust. Times when all I could remember was the taste of her tongue as it ran across my teeth. Could only remember how her hips felt pressed against mine; how her hipbone would bruise easily. How her breasts fit in my palm; a perfect handful. _Everything_; all I could remember was everything about our nights together over the course of two summers. Hot, sticky, warm, cold, fast, slow, soft, hard. It consumed me.

I was a guy after all, that was my excuse. But it was more than that and I knew it.

I knew it because there were times when I nearly got in my truck and drove the thirty odd miles to Stanford campus, ready and willing to do anything to get her back. Apologize, tell her the truth, pour out my heart, cry. And in these moments, it wasn't because I wanted to sleep with her. It wasn't because I wanted a quickie on the bed of my truck or to feel her bare skin against mine. It was because I missed her. I missed every fiber of her being.

There were moments when her laugh would get stuck in my head for hours. I couldn't even remember the last time I had heard it; the final days of our last summer spent together were so volatile and uncomfortable. Laughing those days were rare and unheard of. Yet I still could hear it, loud, high, a tinkling sort of laugh that made me feel alive from the tips of my toes to the hairs on my head. It would play over and over in my head, like a loop, like a broken record and I would fall asleep, completely haunted by her and wanting to hear that sound for real more than anything.

Then there were the memories. We had so many, so many years under our belts that the memories were endless. I'd see a movie we had watched together once, and think of her, cuddled under a blanket with me, stealing my popcorn as we watched at two AM on a hot August day. I'd solve math problems for class and remind myself of teaching her how to do long division when I was ten and she was eight. I'd read a fairy-tale to Helen, and think about how she forced me to be her prince in a game of dress up when I was seven and she was five. She told me then that she'd love me forever, and I thought the notion was gross.

She told me the same thing eleven years later and meant it, and I thought it was the greatest thing in the world.

Now we were lying on the beach and we were drunk, but my tongue was still sliding against her's and it felt great. My hand was inching up her shirt, playing with the clasp of her bra, squeezing and feeling her breasts still hidden away inside. Her nails were scraping across my back, and under any other circumstances, the feeling would sting or hurt me, but now it only exhilarated me.

I didn't want it to stop.

I slid my hands down to rest on her hips, pinning her down beneath me on the sand. Sand was everywhere; in her hair, on her skin; in my hair, on my skin. We were sticky and as I kissed down her neck, I tasted the grains of sand that had gathered on her skin in clumps. It felt gritty on my tongue and slipped in my teeth, but I didn't mind. I didn't care that I didn't know what time it was and that she was technically my ex, and she was sick, and things were so much more complicated beyond that and she had no idea. I tried to forget that I had broken her heart and that she meant the world to me the whole time, but that I hadn't known what to do. I found myself wishing I had gotten in my truck and drove to see her at least once. Whether it was because I was heartsick or horny, I just wish I had done it. Maybe then I would have worked up some semblance of courage and told her everything.

Now it was too late and this was as good it was going to get. I couldn't go back now.

"Troy," she murmured, running her hands up my shoulders to bury themselves in my hair. "Oh, _God_, Troy."

Her voice sent shivers up my spine, and I pressed more kisses to her jawline, making my way up to her ear. I took the lobe in my mouth and bit down gently, just the way she liked it, hearing her moan. I was thrilled at the sound of it. I wanted to hear more.

"Gabriella," I whispered against her ear, my voice thick and heavy, "I've missed you so much."

In all actuality, I shouldn't have followed her. Sharpay was being particularly overbearing that night, laughing loudly and drinking more than she should, and it was becoming too painful for me to entertain anymore. She was running her hand up my arm and talking in great detail about the great 300 count Egyptian cotton sheets she had purchased for her even better king sized bed, one that she claimed was entirely too big for just her. The thought of taking Sharpay back to that bed, of undressing her, and touching her the way I touched Gabriella, made me sick to my stomach.

But I couldn't seem to get that point across. No matter how I tried to change the subject, no matter how many more beers I drank to try to escape the reality of the situation, she just wasn't letting up, and I just wasn't telling her to bug off. I loved Sharpay, in the way that you truly love a friend who you can't see your life without, if only because they are always there, always dependable, and never changing. But I couldn't handle this side of her. I didn't know how to handle it.

Just as I was trying to string together something that explained that it really wasn't her, it was me, and my feelings for Gabriella, and all of this mess, I saw Gabi out of the corner of my eye. She looked, well, plastered, and she also looked angry, snapping at Ryan Evans before spinning in the opposite direction of the party. As she staggered down the beach, I watched after her, biting my lip and feeling the unmistakable sense of concern through my drunken haze.

Gabriella was a terrible drunk. She could not hold her alcohol to save her life, and on the few occasions I had seen her intoxicated, they had been far from pretty. She usually started off just being louder, dancing more, laughing more, talking more. Then she'd get a little more touchy feel-y, and if things stopped there, then we'd head home and end up fooling around and it would be fine. The times that it didn't, though, Gabriella continued drinking, and eventually she'd throw up, and then start to cry, and I'd end up taking her home and tucking her into bed, cuddling up beside her and sleeping off my own tipsy haze.

So immediately, I had visions of her passing out on the beach, choking on her own vomit, and then washing up to shore the next morning. Within seconds, I had told Sharpay I had to leave, and was bounding on the stretch of beach after her.

And then we were making out.

I nipped at the shell of her ear, nuzzling her hair with my nose. "You taste so good, Gabi," I said softly, "just like I remember..."

Gabriella pulled my head back down to hers, reconnecting our lips as she strokes the side of my face with her small hand. I grasp it in my own, loving the feel of how well we fit together. I don't want to use stupid analogies that we fit like puzzle pieces or something like that, but we do. There were times when I was so head over heels for Gabi that I was convinced that we were made for each other.

And in moments like this, when she was dragging her calf up the back of mine, setting her leg around my hip, I was convinced all over again. It is like we are moulded into one another, two wholes of the same half and all of that mushy, romantic crap that I'm not supposed to believe in.

She just makes me believe.

We kissed some more, our mouths moving against each other's in a frenzied rhythm, and I wondered if I was still drunk, or if I was sobering up. I wondered if I was drunk at all, or if I just thought I was drunk. As if it is just a good excuse to explain why I went after her, why I kissed back when she kissed me. Oh, god, how happy I was that she kissed me. I had been thinking about it from the moment I saw her. My first thought was that she was too thin and my second was that I wanted to kiss her anyway.

She is too thin, I could feel it as I ran my hands all over her. If I dragged her shirt up, I was fairly certain that I could count her ribs, one by one. Her hipbones created more of a divot than they did before, and her waist line was so tiny, I could clasp both my hands around it, and my fingers met. She was so tiny, so fragile, and I just wanted to hold her and make sure that things change. That it doesn't resort to this again.

I kissed her harder, passionately and lovingly, and hoping she understood. But is that what I want to say? That I love her? Cause that wouldn't be right right now. I don't want to love her, and I don't want her to think that, and I can't make this more complicated than it already is.

I pecked her lips once more and pulled back, gasping for breath. Underneath me, her chest is heaving, and her lips are red and swollen. She wrapped her hand around my neck and I rested my forehead against hers and looked down at her. She looked beautiful.

I looked down into her eyes, big, round, and a soft brown and she looked back up at mine, and for a moment, it is as if we are completely sober. As if everything that happened between us is gone, and we are just Troy and Gabriella and this moment is ours to keep. Yet the moment passed as fast as it appeared, and I saw the full realization of the moment flicker across Gabriella's eyes.

"Oh, god," she murmured, pulling her hand back and pressing it to her mouth. "Oh god, oh god, oh god."

It hits me then, too, like a ton of bricks. I just made out with Gabriella. On the beach. There's sand in places I didn't know sand could go and there is a hickey on her neck the size of a ping-pong ball. I'm not supposed to love her. I'm not even supposed to talk to her.

Suddenly, her hands came upon my chest and she pressed upon it firmly, pushing me off of her. "Get off of me!" she yelled, and I did, rolling off of her as quickly as I could. She jumped up, staggering to her feet and adjusting her shirt, which had shifted off her shoulder. She rans a hand through her sandy hair, and turned to look at me. She was shaking.

"Oh my god," she said again, looking at me with wide eyes. "What just happened? Why did I do that? Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"Gabriella—" I began, but she cuts me off.

"Shut up, Troy!" she yelled, and I could see the tears forming in her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed; from our kissing or anger, I'm not quite sure. "Oh my god, I can't believe I kissed you. I hate you. I'm not supposed to talk to you. What the fuck was I thinking?"

I folded my arms, my guard going up instantly. Whatever I felt a few minutes ago is gone, and what was quickly replacing it is bitterness and sadness and exhaustion. "I don't think you were."

She looked at me then, her eyes slits. "This is your fucking fault!" she snapped, her words dripping with venom. "I didn't want to see you! I left the party to get away from you! Why the fuck did you follow me?"

"Sorry I didn't want you to choke on your own vomit!" I yelled back, unsure of what exactly is coming over me. I don't want to yell at her, but I am, and I don't know why. Maybe because she yelled first, and I was just following her lead, like I did when she kissed me. "You were drunk as a skunk."

She stomped her foot and I roll my eyes at how childish she is behaving. Gabriella was only two years younger than me, but in moments like this, it felt like she was the same age as Helen. Sometimes it was endearing. Mostly it wasn't.

"I was drunk because I was having fun and I was done having fun and getting away from you and why can't you just fuck off, Troy?" she said quickly, so fast I had trouble following her. "Why can't you leave me alone? Why must you do this to me?"

I swallowed thickly, trying to weigh my words as evenly as I could, but it proved to be impossible. I was drunk off of the alcohol and drunk off of her, and it was a deadly combination. "Because you can't fucking take care of yourself," I spat, "you don't know your limit and you turn into a mess and excuse me for giving a damn."

She glared. "You're not supposed to give a damn."

"Yeah, well, I do," I come up close to her, so close I can practically feel her breath on my face. "I don't know why, but I do, and I see you and your skinny self, and I am worried and I care, and fuck you for making me feel that way."

She didn't say anything for a minute, and I'm not sure if she even really heard me, or if she is a million miles away. Then she pressed a hand to her mouth, turn around, and threws up.

I'm by her side in a second, holding her hair and stroking her back as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the sand. She broke down into sobs as she dry heaved, and I continued to rub her back in an attempt to soothe.

In a way, it almost feels like old times.

"I want to go home," she said, her face crumpled and I feel terrible, because I know I am the cause of her pain. "Take me home, Troy."

So I scooped her up in my arms and began the walk back to the house. It wasn't long, but with the added weight of Gabriella and the already light feeling in my head, it took longer than it should, and feels like years. I finally stumbled in the doorway, Gabriella asleep in my arms, her head resting against my shoulder, and it took all of the rest of my energy to walk up the stairs to our floor.

I walked into her room and pulled back her covers, settling her inside. I went to the bathroom and retrieved a warm, wet cloth and a garbage can. I set the garbage can beside her bed and wiped her mouth clean. Then I went back, rinsed out the cloth, filled up a glass of water and grabbed two Advil. I set them up on her night-table, in a place that I know she'll see them, and turned her on her side in case she needed to throw up again, so she won't choke.

Then I watched her for a moment.

There are tear tracks on her face and her eyelids are flickering. I can tell even in rest, she's unhappy and stressed, and I know it's because of me. It's all because of me, and even though I tried to end all this to not cause her pain, I know I am doing so. That's all I can seem to do, cause her pain.

I pushed her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then I stood up, walked out the door, and to my own room, where I stumble into bed.

My last thought is if I am too drunk to remember this in the morning, or if I was even drunk at all. The confusion keeps me up for another hour.

* * *

><p>I woke up the next morning and registered exactly two things. Number one, my head felt like it had been run over by a cement truck and then was filled with the leftover cement, and two, there was definitely water on my nose.<p>

I cracked my eyes open warily, expecting to see Helen perched over me, drooling or something childlike like that, but instead I was met with the amused and annoyed face of Carmen Montez. She was holding a turkey baster in her hand and was letting tiny drops of water fall onto my face one by one, like Chinese water torture.

She grinned upon seeing me. I raised an eyebrow, wishing desperately that she would go away. "Good morning?" I croaked, and her grin grew wider.

"Good morning," she responded brightly.

And then she squirted the rest of the water in one large gush all over my face, drenching me and my pillow. I sprang up.

"What the fuck?" I shouted, running a hand over my face, "what the fuck do you think you're doing? Jesus, Carmen?"

Carmen merely laughed, twirling the turkey baster around her fingers like it was a firearm, blowing at the tip of it. "Waking you up, silly," she said, and I glared at her. The women of this household certainly had a twisted idea of a wake up call. "It's nearly two in the afternoon." She placed her hands on her hips, surveying me quickly. "Man, you look hungover as fuck."

I pressed a hand to my forehead, sitting up fully and trying to register what was going on. I was wet, Carmen was here, and I was definitely hungover. "That's putting it lightly," I mumbled, wanting nothing more than to roll over and curl back up in bed. But it didn't seem like Carmen was going anywhere, and more than that, my sheets were soaked. It was either sleep in the damp mess or go and change them, neither of which seemed very appealing at the moment.

So instead I peeled off my drenched t-shirt and raised an eyebrow, staring at the older Montez sister patiently, hoping she'd make her lecture fast so I could go shower and stuff hangover food into my mouth.

"What do you want?" I asked, not up for her bullshit. Carmen rolled her eyes and pressed a hand to her chest.

"Me? Want something?" she shook her head. "Never! I was simply waking up my little baby brother in hopes of having a little chat."

"I'm not your brother," I said simply, "and I don't feel like chatting. So you can get out the fuck out of my bedroom now, Car."

Carmen scoffed. "No need to be so sassy with me, Bolton. You guys didn't hey home until what, after two last night? And you came home together? And you're hungover, and Gabriella is hungover, and she also hasn't left her room all afternoon..."

I swallowed. "Did she leave at all? Has she eaten anything?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, lover boy," Carmen patted my knee. "She came down for breakfast acting like nothing was wrong, but of course everyone minus Len could tell it took everything in her to stomach food without retching. She thinks she pulled a fast one on our parents, though, which is ridiculous because she departed back to the bedroom straight after and still hasn't emerged, so even if she did ward off some suspicion, she looks completely busted now."

"Well, that's not my fault, now is it?" I asked, laying back down on my bed. It was gross, the water had seeped in through the streets and it made my skin itchy in the places where the fabric clung to my back and shoulders. "I didn't tell her to drink and I didn't tell her to fuck up convincing your parents."

"No," Carmen drawled, carrying out the last syllable. "But I figure whatever did happen last night, you were at least somewhat responsible. She didn't wake up in a puddle of her own puke and I am pretty sure the Advil didn't walk out of the bottle and onto her nightstand all by herself. And knowing you, Bolton," she said, a hint of malice in her voice, "you had something to do with why she drank herself silly in the first place."

I was quiet in response, but I wished I wasn't. I wish I could think of some stupid excuse to deny it, but it was true, and I couldn't get around that if I tried. So I said nothing.

Carmen chuckled. "Ah, that's what I thought." She gave my knee one more pat and then stood up. "Go shower up. You and I have a busy day ahead."

This caused me to spring up once more. "I'm sorry? You and I?"

Walking across the room, Carmen nodded, pausing in the doorway to look at me. "Yes, you and I. I don't know what you did to my sister last night, Troy, but I intend to find out, and I also think that you deserve a little bit of punishment. So be showered and ready in twenty minutes. If your ass is good, I'll take you to McDonald's."

The thought of cheeseburgers and cheap fries made my mouth water, but I still glared at her. "I don't have to go with you."

"No, you don't," Carmen said in a sing-song voice, "but it's either you come with me or you stay here all day and avoid Gabriella. And I'm sure you don't want to do that."

She was right. I didn't. So I found myself clambering to the bathroom, showering, and pulling on the first clothes I could find. Next thing I knew, we were in the Bolton van, heading to town. I hated myself.

Though in that moment I was fairly certain I hated Carmen more.

"Where are we going, anyway?" I asked as she drove a little too fast in a town a little too small. The familiar shop windows pass by as we cruised down the street ; Clyde's Comic and Toy Shop, my absolute favourite place to frequent as a kid. The laundry mat that still had vintage Pac-Man games. Gabriella and I used to beg our parents to do their laundry there instead of at home, simply so we could play while we waited. The pizza place that became the hangout of thirteen year olds. I kissed Gabriella there once, just because I could.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Carmen asked, making a sharp turn, so sharp that I slid into the door a little. I roll my eyes in aggravation.

"Yes, I would like to know," I said, annoyed. "Can you tell me now?"

She began scanning the streets and I could tell we were close to our destination. "Nope," she said simply.

"And why not?"

"Because if I tell you, you'll hurdle yourself out of the moving car and into traffic."

I looked around, and there were no other cars on the street except for a Volvo that is moving at a much slower pace than Carmen. I'm fairly certain that even if I were to throw myself out the car, I wouldn't get that hurt. Maybe a bump on the knee, a scrape on my shoulder. As we pulled up to our stop, I suddenly found myself wishing I had.

"Oh, no," I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Turn the car around right now."

"No!" Carmen whacked my arm. "Get out of the car, Bolton! You have to help me with this!"

I gave an exasperated sigh. "Carmen, I don't want to. Can't someone else do this?"

She looked at me, annoyed. "Gabriella was supposed to help me, but as you know, she is otherwise indisposed."

"I'm hungover, too!"

"I don't care!" she grabbed her purse and began to make her way out of the car. "This is your punishment for getting my little sister drunk and then doing whatever it is you did to make her so mad."

"I don't want to help you pick out flowers for your wedding, Carmen!" I protested weakly.

At this, Carmen stepped out of the car, slamming her door shut behind her. I watched as she made her way around the front of the car, and ended up on my side, ripping open the door.

"Get the fuck out of this car right now."

I do as I am told, stumbling out of the car. Carmen seemed suddenly scary in that moment. When we were kids, I did whatever she wanted, because she was older and big kids were to be respected. I kind of still did that, but right now I felt like it was because she knew things that could make my life living hell.

So I trailed behind her as she examined flower after flower. Inquiring about the price of these, asking what would look good with those. I felt tired, I felt sick, and she still hadn't held up her end of the bargain. I was still waiting for her to take me to McDonald's.

"What do you think, Troy?" she asked, examining a purple flower carefully. "Do you like this?"

I shrugged. "I guess so. I don't know, just pick anything. You're only taking pictures today anyway. What does it matter?"

Carmen's eyes narrowed at me and I immediately knew I had said the wrong thing. "These are the flowers for my wedding day, you asshole. This is important! You are to help me and not sit there and mope!"

"I can't help it, okay," I shot back, rubbing the bridge of my nose. My head really hurt by now. "I feel like shit. Last night was rough."

I wasn't sure if I imagined it or not, but Carmen's eyes seemed to soften. She placed the flower back down and told the shop associate that we were just going to browse for a little while. The girl, a happy go lucky teenager named Katherine, smiled eagerly before bouncing off. Carmen cleared her throat and looked at me seriously.

"What exactly happened last night, Troy?' she asked, and I once again was filled with admiration for her no nonsense attitude. Straight to the punch as always.

"Gabriella and I...we kissed on the beach," I said, completely unsure of why exactly I was telling her. Carmen had that disarming nature to her, though. You wanted to tell her things. She didn't judge, didn't react. Just told you what you did wrong, what you did right, and what you should do now.

Her eyes grew three times in side. "You kissed? You were drunk, right? There is no way this happened sober."

I nodded. "Yeah, we were...pretty drunk. I don't know. I saw her run off and she was upset because Sharpay was all over me—"

"She hates that girl you know."

"I know," I sighed, "I know, but I just...that's not the point. Anyway, I followed her and one thing led to another and we were making out on the beach."

Carmen threw her hands up. "I can't believe this. I leave you kids alone for two seconds and you are making out on the beach."

"She started it," I added, not helping the situation. Carmen only glares in response.

"That doesn't make a difference," she said simply, "you still kissed her back. Did it mean anything? Did you want it to mean anything?"

I shook my head, wanting to nod at the same time. "No. I...it's not that black and white, I guess. Of course it meant something, and I want it to mean something, but...it can't. Not right now. Maybe never. So no, it didn't mean anything, and I don't want it to mean anything."

Carmen nodded slowly, reaching over and picking up a pink lily from a bunch in front of her. "Why can't it mean something Troy?" she asked, quietly.

I swallowed. "You know why."

She nodded in response, handing the pink lily to me. "Then don't do shit like that again. You can't...you know how she'll take this. I am telling you, my sister now thinks that you guys will argue a little bit about it when you get home, and then you'll fall into each other's arms, and that's not what you want, is it?"

"Right," I said, even though I did want it. It just wasn't plausible. "I don't want that."

"Then tell her as much and leave her be, or this summer will be hell for us, Troy," Carmen instructed, before nodding to the flower in my hands. "You should get some," she said, "for Gabriella. As an apology."

I blinked. "Why?"

"You know why."

And I did know why. For kissing her back, for wanting it to mean something and not mean something all at once. For breaking her heart. "I guess so."

Carmen eyed the flowers thoughtfully. "Do you know what pink lilies mean?"

I shook my head. "No. Not really."

"They represent wealth, and prosperity," she answered, her brows furrowed. "But also youth and acceptance. Why did you always get them for Gabi if you didn't even know the reason behind them?"

"I don't know," I answered, though I did know why. "I just did."

Carmen clicked her tongue and I know she doesn't believe me. "Okay, lover-boy. I'll pay for these, I guess," she said, before beckoning over Katherine.

"But what about McDonald's?" I frowned. I was still waiting on that.

Carmen smiled. "I said I'd take you to McDonald's. I never said I'd pay. That's all on you."

* * *

><p>My plan had been to drop the flowers off in front of Gabriella's door. That hadn't worked last time, but I didn't want to...well, I didn't want to see her. Seeing her would drudge up all kinds of feelings and I didn't want to have this conversation, no matter how much Carmen said we needed to. I just wanted to pretend it never happened.<p>

However, just as I was setting them down in front of her doorway, it swung open, and then she was standing in front of me.

"What are you doing?" she said, so quietly I had to strain to hear. I swallowed the lump in my throat. She looked exhausted, her skin pale and dark circles prominent underneath her eyes. I winced at the sight of them.

"I was just...um..." I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling nervous. "Just leaving these here."

Gabriella folded her arms, looking at me with dark, angry eyes. "Why?"

I count to three. _In three seconds, I will tell her_, I thought. _I will say sorry. It won't be perfect, but it will be enough, and she will not her head and that will be that. In three seconds, I will start to make it slightly better._

"Because your sister told me, to," is what came out instead.

Gabriella bit her lip, hurt flashing across her eyes. "Oh, she did, did she?"

I nod. "Yeah. To say sorry for last night."

"And why are you apologizing for last night?" she asked, her voice shaking. I know I should walk in the other direction and avoid this, but somehow, I kept talking. "What do you need to apologize for?"

Suddenly, I felt annoyed.I just wanted to be done with this and Gabriella seemed like she just wanted to fight. "I'm sorry for kissing your drunk ass back," I spat, before turning on my heel, ready to be done with her. "That's all, okay? Take it or leave it."

I want her to leave it. But I should have known better, should have known that it wasn't that easy. Should have realized that Carmen wanted me to give Gabriella flowers for more reasons than I assumed. I could hear her behind me and waited for her to say something that would make the hairs on the back of my neck raise in aggravation.

"Do you remember the first time you gave me lilies?" Gabriella called after me, and I paused in the hallway. I wasn't expecting this. The memory runs through me and I shiver.

"Sort of," I mumbled, wanting to run to my bedroom and back over to her all at the same time. I was lying. I remembered everything, every little detail, but I wasn't about to tell her that. "Why?"

"We were so young," she said softly, and I turned around then, just in time to see her pick up the flowers and cradle them in her arms. "I was, I think nine then? And you were eleven. It was my birthday."

I let out a deep breath, walking over to her. "I remember," I said, my walls crashing down around me. "You had your hair in pigtails."

"French braids," she corrected me quickly, a slip of a smile spreading across her face. "I spent hours on them, wanting to look just right. I wanted to look good for you, you know." At her words, I ducked my head, feeling my cheeks grow hot. "And then you gave me _Pokemon Silver_ as a gift, cause I had been babbling about it all summer, and a bouquet of lilies. Because I liked pink and you thought they were nicer than carnations and not as serious as roses."

I chuckled. "Yeah. I put a lot of thought into them, Montez," I said, remembering the way that I had not wanted to make a huge deal out of giving Gabriella flowers, but wanting to give them to her anyway.

She smiled a sad smile at me. "You did. I remember thinking it was the best birthday of my life, because you gave me Pokemon and lilies. I wrote a million diary entries and went back to school in the fall and told everyone I had a boyfriend."

I winced. "I see."

Gabriella laughed bitterly, continuing on. "But then you just kept giving me lilies, didn't you? It became our thing. You gave me lilies for every birthday, had them sent to me for Valentine's Day, and sometimes it was just because. I loved that. They were special every time. "

"But these?" She tightened her hand around the lilies she was holding. "It's so hard to even look at them now, Troy. They aren't special at all to me. They just make me hurt. They just make me anxious, remind me of a time when I woke up and felt happy. When I didn't think of you and want to cry."

She began to cry then, and I couldn't help it. The next thing I knew, I had pulled her into my arms and held her while she cried, my shirt damp as her tears collected on my shoulder.

"Hey," I murmur into her hair. "It's okay."

"No it's not," she said, shaking her head. "It's not. I can't do this anymore, Troy," she pulled back to look me in the eye. "I can't be mad at you and want you all at once. So please, next time you want to come after me, don't."

"But, Gabriella..."

"Troy, if I kissed you right now, and you kissed me back, would it mean something?" she asked plainly, setting the lilies down, "would it mean we were getting back together?" My silence seemed to answer her question, and she continued. "Exactly. And I can't handle that anymore. It's too much."

I cleared my throat, feeling light headed. "But you kissed me."

"I was drunk," she wiped away her tears quickly, "and I love you. What did you expect me to do, Troy? You don't love me like that anymore, so what does it matter what I did? It's up to you to fix things. The ball's in your court, it always has been. And you don't want to, do you?"

A beat passed between us, and I want to tell her everything. That I love her, more than I love anyone, and that I want every kiss to mean something. But instead, I shook my head.

"I don't want it to mean anything," I said slowly, "It can't right now."

She nodded, before turning around. "Then please, don't bother me anymore. We can talk, because when we don't, all we seem to do is fight. But don't...don't pretend to care."

"I do care, though," I said, my voice starting to crack. "I can't help it. I can't just turn it off."

"Well then find a way," she said as more tears escape her eyes, "cause you are ruining me."

I noticed it then, the way her voice sounded. Desperate. Like she was at the end of her rope. Did I should desperate? I wasn't sure.

But as the door closed behind her, and I saw that she had left the flowers behind once again, I certainly felt it.

Desperate, that is.

* * *

><p><strong>I actually meant to have this up on Tuesday, but I have barely been sleeping lately, so my motivation to do anything other than read and eat and force myself to go to work has been...rather low. But better late than never, right? I was originally planning on updating on Saturday, but I unfortunately work two jobs and am pretty much enslaved for the next couple of days. Maybe Sunday, though! Hopefully Monday at the latest.<strong>

**After chapter five, there may be a tiny break, as I only have up to that chapter plotted out. I have the whole story outlined, of course, but only up to chapter five all detailed. Plus I need to knock out some of the auction fic I have written in various stages of completion. But we'll see! I really like this updating often thing, and want to get this fic done before August, so hopefully I can balance everything!**

**Thanks for my J+K, the best betas ever, and as always, tracks at my livejournal!**


	5. By the Shore in Lazy Summer

**I Love You More Than French Fries**

Chapter 5: By the Shore in Lazy Summer

"_How can someone who wants to be loved hate it when they're loved at all? Does guilt really feel that bad? Every time I take a breath, honey, I feel the weight fall back on me. Somebody tell me it's not so bad._"

- Better Than Nothing by Sarah Jaffe

* * *

><p>The first summer at the summer house did not get off to a good start.<p>

I had never met Troy, or the Boltons, before. In fact, I was fairly certain that up until that point, our parents had drifted a part for a little while. Careers and kids and PTA meetings and basketball games had kept them from going out on weekends for dancing and wine. Too much money to hire a babysitter for the steep rate of five dollars an hour (five fifty for me and Carmen, given that there were two of us) to justify a night of feeling young. So it didn't happen as often as it would like.

The summer house, essentially, was for my parents, at least in the beginning. They had decided it would be their place to reconnect, to get to know each other all over again. It was never meant to be a place for their children to fall in and out of love with each other. We were to hang out together, and maybe if they were lucky, we would become friends, but mostly it was a place where they could spend time together and feel young and not feel like they were abandoning us.

However, none of that really mattered because it quickly became a family thing. It quickly became something everyone looked forward to, quickly became a part of us as much as it was a part of them. So I suppose it all worked out in the end. Though sometimes, when our parents would check up on Troy and I every single time we were behind a closed door, I wondered if they'd do it any different. If they would have avoided such bonding time just to not have to deal with making sure we didn't copulate under the same roof as them.

It was a stupid worry anyway. For the record, we had sex; we just tried to avoid doing it at the house, and if we did, it wasn't when they were awake and able to do things like ask if we needed any snacks fourteen times in an hour. But parents don't think that way; they like to believe that their children don't exercise logic in that way, because when they are looking at the situation, they sure aren't looking at it logically.

Sometimes, though, on the days when everyone was walking on eggshells around Troy and I, I couldn't help but wonder if they wished they could go back to that uneasy, awkward moments instead of the tension filled ones they were dealing with now. Or if they'd rather have skipped it all together.

If they hadn't have brought us all together that first summer.

My father claimed that the summer house was a steal. That the rate we got it for was excellent, especially for a full share. My mother was mostly over the moon at the prospect of spending the whole summer with Lucille; to have someone to talk to other than her husband and two children, whom while she loved dearly, definitely didn't understand just how taxing it was working all day and then coming home and being expected to prepare dinner. So to say my parents weren't excited about it would be an understatement.

There was less excitement on Carmen's and my end. At the time, she was twelve, and I was six. She hated the prospect of spending an entire summer in a small town with her family instead of at ballet camp with her friends. "Lisa and Maggie are both going!" she had whined to my mother in the kitchen one evening. "They are going to beat my record of pirouettes, Mom, and before you know it, the lack of practice will ruin my turnout, and then how am I ever going to be a prima ballerina then?"

My mother had simply rolled her eyes and shushed her. Carmen could practice at the summer house if she was really worked about her turnout. She had looked into it and there were classes she could take in town. That shut Carmen up, not because she was thrilled at the idea of ballet classes, but because she realized she was running out of arguments. Long story short, Carmen did not want to go to the summer house.

And neither did I, because at six years of age, I was already in tuned enough to know that the moment Carmen made a friend (which she would almost immediately), she would ditch me, and I would be stuck by myself. My mom insisted that Troy, who was eight at the time, would play with me, but there were a couple of problems with that. Number one, he was eight, and at six and eight years of age, the gap was huge. He was in the third grade! I was still in kindergarten. The second was that he was a boy, and boys didn't like to play with girls. Chances were he'd ditch me, too, and I'd be stuck all by myself all summer with no one to play with and nothing to do.

The prospects were looking so bleak, I almost yearned for school to start again.

"Carmen," I had said one evening after dinner, "do you promise to play with me when we go on vacation?"

Carmen had rolled her eyes and sighed deeply, as if at twelve years of age she had been through many trials and tribulations that I could not possibly relate to at only six. "I guess so, Gabi," she said, flipping through the channels on the television. "If I don't find anything better to do."

I felt a moment of inwardly panic. "No, I mean, even if you find something to do! Please, please, please, Carmen, I don't want to hang out with Troy the whole time. I'll be so bored! He's a boy!"

Rolling her eyes once more, Carmen nodded. "Fine, if it will get you to keep quiet."

I shut up, pleased that she had agreed and comforted that I wouldn't be completely alone all summer. Of course, I should have known Carmen was lying, but at six years old, I wasn't the best judge of character.

So when we finally arrived at the summer house a month later, Carmen ditched me the first chance she got, and I was in tears sitting on the porch steps, watching her lace up her Keds.

"Carmen!" I whined, "you promised! You said you would play with me!"

Carmen chewed on her gum noisily; a big wad of _Bubblicious_ grape. "I know, Gabi, but I met this really cool girl, Kelly, and I can't have my baby sister tag along."

I bit my lower lip, feeling it tremble. "But I am cool! I'll be cool, please let me come, Carmen! I don't wanna play by myself!"

Standing up, Carmen placed her hands on her hips and frowned at me. "Gabi, I'm really sorry. We can go down to the beach after dinner, okay? In the meantime, go play with Jack and Lucille's kid. He seemed nice."

My mouth fell open. Did Carmen remember nothing about our very serious conversation a month prior. "But he's a boy!" I said, outraged. "They have cooties! I don't want to play with him!"

But before I could argue anymore, Carmen had kissed me on the top of my head, waved, and run off. And I was alone.

I sat on the porch steps with my head in my hands for what seemed like hours. My summer was going to be awful. I'd arrive at school for my first day of first grade, and I'd have to write a journal about what I had done, and I would say nothing. I cried the whole time and played by myself, and all of the other kids would say it was stupid and boring and then I would be the outcast of first grade.

I had deep social anxiety at six years old. I must have been preparing myself for high school.

So as I sat there, thinking about my untimely demise, preparing myself for a year of loneliness at recess, Troy came paddling up. Our parents had introduced us briefly before, but I had hid behind my mom while he hid behind his. It was all around the most awkward encounter of my life, and I had pretty much accepted and decided that we were not going to be friends. He was wearing a Ninja Turtles t-shirt and shorts, and his feet were bare. In his hand were two popsicles, a red one and a purple one. He came up beside me and sat down, before clearing his throat shyly.

"Hi," he said quietly, and I looked up at him through teary eyes. His sandy brown hair was thick and messy, curling around his ears and the back of his neck. His eyes were wide, big, and blue, and his eyelashes seemed longer than a girl's. On his knee were four Batman bandages. The popsicles looked like they were about to melt in his hands. "Do you want a popsicle?"

I looked down at them. I really did; it was hot and sticky out, and the popsicle looked like just the thing to at least make me feel marginally better. I nodded. "Yes please," I said, and he looked at the popsicles in his hands before back up at me.

"What kind did you want?" he asked and I blinked, shocked that he was offering. Carmen and I both loved grape, and she always ate them without my knowing, and all that was left would be red, or even worse, orange. I never got a choice.

I swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind my hair. "Um, can I have the purple one?" I asked, feeling very shy. He was a boy. Boys had cooties and were to be feared. But he was a pretty boy, and for some reason, that made me even more wary. Or nervous. Or shy. Or maybe all of them.

Troy smiled and nodded, extending the red one to me. "Sure!" he said brightly. "I like red better anyhow."

My eyes grew wide, and I like to think somewhere in the very depths of my subconscious that I just knew it at that moment. Troy and I were made for each other; we completed each other. Here was this boy who was not only giving me a popsicle, but was giving me a choice, and it turned out that he liked the one that I did not. Things like that were a big deal.

Wiping my tears with the back of my hands, I reached out and took the popsicle shyly. "Thanks," I said, shoving the whole thing in my mouth. It was cold and made my tongue go numb, but it was sugary and just what I needed. I felt instantly better.

We sat for a moment, eating our popsicles in silence, the sound of our slurping the only noise, before Troy cleared his throat again.

"Why were you crying?" he asked with all of the tact that an eight year old can possess. I looked at him, surprised and embarrassed. I couldn't really tell him why without telling him that I didn't want to hang out with him, and he seemed nice enough, and if there was a chance we were going to be friends, I didn't want to blow it.

"My sister was just being mean," I said, feeling small and sad. "She was supposed to play with me, but now she's not."

Troy frowned. "That sucks."

A beat passed between us before Troy finished off his popsicle and stood up. I instantly felt sad. I had had companionship for a brief moment! Now it was going away. Still nibbling on my popsicle, I tried to will away the tears that were fast approaching.

"You want to go down to the beach and look for shells?" Troy asked. "Unless you wanted to catch up with your sister."

"No!" I said quickly, standing up. "Let's go to the beach!"

And that was that. We went to the beach and we laughed and ended up getting soaked in the water and our parents were part angry at us for trailing water through the house and half delighted that we had taken to each other. We spent the whole summer together and I started the first grade in the fall. I wrote about my amazing summer and my new best friend, Troy, and how he always let me have the grape popsicles.

* * *

><p>"You don't need to push yourself so hard, Gabi," Carmen was saying as she ran beside me, "my thighs are killing me and I'm pretty sure my ankles are about to break. Can we please slow down?"<p>

I shook my head, enjoying the feeling of the wind whipping my face as we made our way down the beach. "Just a little farther, Car," I said, "let's at least go for another mile."

Carmen's jaw dropped. "Another mile? Gabi, are you crazy? We're already running on sand, and that's hard enough as it is! Can we just slow down for a little while?"

I shook my head once more and Carmen grabbed my wrist. I stopped abruptly, and turned to look at her. "Carmen!" I hissed, "What are you doing? We need to keep up momentum!"

"No," Carmen glared at me, "what we need is to take a break. We've been running for over an hour and a half, and I get that you want to blow off some steam, but you need to take a break. You're not the one trying to squeeze into a wedding dress, so sit down, and shut up."

She plunked herself down on the sand, taking her water bottle and chugging the contents. I looked down at my sister, glaring. She was wearing a tiny purple tank top and grey shorts, her long hair in a high bun. Even sweaty and exhausted, she looked great. I felt a pang of jealousy and envy run through me as I sat down beside her.

"It was your idea to go for a run," I said, annoyed as I sat down beside her. It was hot, and I was definitely starting to feel dehydrated, and if I was being honest, I didn't really want to keep going. At the same time, however, I didn't really feel like sitting here and waiting for Carmen to catch her breath. I wanted to get this run over with so I could go back to my room and hide from Troy before I had to start work.

Yet Carmen insisted we go for a nice morning run on the beach. She claimed she wanted to get in shape for the wedding, but she had already suggested we stop for a break about five times prior to this. I guess she had reached her breaking point.

Carmen rolled her eyes and poured the remainder of her water over her face. "Oh, you big baby," she mumbled, "can't stand to spend a little bit of time resting, huh? Calm down."

I glared at her and drew my knees to my chest. "Shut up, Carmen," I said, sourly. "I'm just not in a good mood."

At this, Carmen stiffened, lowering her water bottle. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, and it was then that I knew she knew exactly why I was less than sunny on this beautiful morning. Even a year ago, I would have jumped at the chance at running on the beach, and would have gladly gone with Carmen. Now it seemed taxing and like a little was not enough, and more than that, I didn't want to be here at the summer house. And I certainly didn't want to be beside my sister, who was at least part of the reason why I was so upset in the first place.

She shifted beside me before letting out a deep breath. "I didn't mean to upset you by asking Troy to give you the flowers, Gabi," she said softly, and I tensed at her words. While I knew she was fully aware of the situation, and had been itching to bring it up since we left the house, I never actually thought that she would. "I thought it would...I thought I was helping."

I looked at my sister and saw she was biting her lip, her eyes big and remorseful. For a second she looked 10 years old again. I couldn't hold it against her even if I tried; in the end, this was between Troy and I, and Carmen, while she was prying, was only trying to help in the way that only a sister can. I shrugged. "It's okay," I said, gazing out to the long expanse of water in front of me. The waves seemed quiet, and I wondered if Troy was going to go surfing. "You didn't mean to cause trouble. That was all our own fault."

Carmen scooted closer to me, laying a hand on my arm. "What exactly happened between you two, anyway?" she asked seriously. "All I know is you were both hungover and Troy said you kissed."

I glared at her from the corner of my eye, before leaning over and unlacing my sneakers. "That's pretty much what happened," I said, pulling one shoe off, then the other. "I don't even know what happened, Car. We were at this party and he had Sharpay Evans draped all over him, and I just snapped."

"You hate Sharpay, right?"

"I wouldn't say hate," I said, biting my lip, "that's a really strong word. But I am definitely not her biggest fan. If she didn't make it so horribly obvious why she comes up here every summer, maybe I'd like her a little more. But as it is, we've been competing for the same boy since we were ten, so I'm not really inclined to take a liking to her. "

Carmen nodded. "That makes sense. I wanna kill any girl who looks at Alex in even the slightest wrong way. It must be a Montez trait."

"Carmen, you're just the jealous type and you always have been," I said with a giggle, reminded of how Carmen got sent home for ripping out a girl's hair extensions in her senior year of high school because she was talking to her then boyfriend for too long. "I wouldn't say it's a trait."

"Oh really?" Carmen gave me a pointed look, her lips turning up into a smile. "Then why does Sharpay bother you so much? Enough that you snapped?"

I opened my mouth to retort, but paused. She was right. "Okay, maybe you have a point. But it's not just any girl! It's Sharpay!"

Carmen laughed and shook her head. "Alright, but that's not the point of the discussion. What happened after?"

Wrapping my arms around my chest, I recounted how I had stormed off and Troy had followed. Then I got to the point where I had practically thrown myself at him; when we had kissed. "I don't know what came over me," I admitted honestly, resting my chin on my knees. "It was just...he was there and he was so close and he was acting like he cared. And I was drunk. I just wanted him in that moment."

"I want him. That's what it comes down to. I hate him for so many things, but the good, the bad, the ugly; I want all of it. And seeing Troy standing there in front of me, and looking vulnerable...I wanted him in that moment, too. I wanted him to be vulnerable for a moment."

I groaned and flopped back down on the sand, feeling it creep it's way up my shoulders and hair. It was hot, but it was soft, and felt good against my skin. "But it never lasts long, you know? He gets all...I don't know what he's doing," I admitted. "I want him, but I'm never sure if he wants me back or not."

Carmen laid down beside me, turning on her side to get a better look at me. "He wants you, Gabi," she said, "I can see it in his eyes when he talks about you."

"But what difference does it make? He's not willing to do anything about that. He made it clear to me." I furrowed my brow. "And another thing, why is he always talking to you about it?"

"He's not, not really," Carmen said with a tilt of her head. "I'm just trying to...I don't know, get in his head to help you out, I guess. Plus I kind of think he needs a friend or something right now, but he's just so stubborn and difficult. I really didn't mean to make you upset with the flowers, I want to make sure you know that."

I nodded. "Don't worry about it, Carmen. He gave them to me and got all snippy and...it's not your fault he is...the way he is."

Carmen pursed her lips at his. "It's not necessarily his fault he is the way he is, either, Gabi," she said softly, taking my hand and giving it a little squeeze. "Things happen to a person. Change them."

I couldn't help but feel that she knew something, something that she wasn't saying. That she knew more than she was letting on. But Carmen always knew more; just like she knew that I was upset about the whole situation, so I brushed it off. Trying to figure it out was too bothersome.

"Be that as it may, I can't be around him right now, and I certainly can't be with him," I said, looking up at the sky. "He says one thing, and does another, and he keeps saying that he cares, and I don't think he cares at all."

"What do you think he's doing it for then?" Carmen asked, frowning.

"I just think..." I trailed off. "I think that he doesn't know what he wants and I think that he wants me, but he doesn't really. He just doesn't know anything different. And frankly, I'm sick of him jerking me around. I can't handle it. I can't be that girl again," I looked down, feeling small and alone. "I can't be that girl that caters to his bad moods and waits for him and hopes that he'll change and suddenly be good again. I was that girl all last summer. I won't be her again."

A dark look passed over Carmen's face. "Fuck him," she said, angry, "I wish I had been here last summer. I would have put him in his place. Fuck him."

"You don't mean that," I said. "No matter what any of us says about each other, none of us means it."

Carmen shrugged. "Maybe I do mean it." I shot her a look. "Okay, maybe I don't. But he was still like my little brother to me growing up. Even though I hate him for what he did to you, I still can't shake it."

"I know," I said, "Mom feels the same way. And like I said, none of us mean the things we say to each other. Which is why I need space from Troy, indefinitely. I just need him to keep up his end of the bargain."

"He will," Carmen said, squeezing my hand again. "If I know that kid at all, he knows when to stop pushing it. And if he doesn't, then he'll have to answer to me."

"Oh, so threatening."

"Hey!" Carmen laughed, "I'll make him go dress shopping or something equally as demeaning. He'll hate it. I'll try on dresses I hate all day just to piss him off."

"I laughed. "You're pure evil," I said, letting go of my sister's hand. As I did, I brushed past her engagement ring and smiled. "Is Alex still coming down in a couple weeks?"

A smile spread across Carmen's face, and I could have sworn she was blushing. "Yep!" she said excitedly. "Ten days. I can't wait; I feel like I have been away from him forever, not just a week."

I laughed, remembering the feeling of missing someone that much. Of feeling like years were passing by just because you weren't with them. I still felt that way towards Troy, but it was more like I was missing someone who was never coming back rather than someone whose return I could expect.

It was kind of like missing a ghost.

"Have you guys given any more thought to the wedding?" I asked. "Any more concrete plans?"

At this she shook her head. "There still so much more to do, Gabi. But it's so exciting, and I like being here, able to plan it with all of you."

"Well, I'm happy to plan it with you," I said, though I wasn't sure that was entirely true. "I really like having you here."

This part was true. Having Carmen there was an undeniable comfort. It was nice knowing I had my big sister with me and on my side, knowing that she carried a piece of summer that represented my childhood when things were easier, lighter. Especially this summer, when things were so messed up and confusing. She made me feel calm; like it wouldn't be like this forever. Plus her excitement and happiness towards her wedding was contagious, and although the whole thing was taudry and never ending and frustrating, I couldn't help but share some of it, too.

At this, Carmen smiled and looked back up at the sky. "Gabi, can I ask you something? You don't have to answer right away, but it's something I've been thinking about."

I nodded, furrowing my brow. She sounded serious. "Sure."

"Will you..." she paused, swallowing. "Will you be my maid of honor?"

I blinked, momentarily stunned. I hadn't expected her to ask me, of all people. We still had such a huge age gap between us and on top of that, I had figured she'd pick one of her best friends and I'd be a bridesmaid. "Um..."

"I know it's a lot of work, and a lot to ask, but I really want to have you be a part of this, Gabi," she said quickly, "you don't have to say yes, but you know, think about it because—"

"Yes!"

"It would really—" Carmen stopped, looking at me. "What?"

I sat up, nodding my head eagerly. "Yes!" I responded, "I'll be your maid of honor! I'd love to! I'd be, um, honored to."

Carmen sat up suddenly and threw her arms around me. "Oh, Gabi, thank you! This means so much to me! Wait until I tell Alex!"

She let go of me and we stood up, walking back to the summer house slowly as she clamored about the wedding, and I momentarily wondered if I was ever going to have the same experience. If I could ever ask her to be my maid of honor. If I'd ever get married.

Days like this, I doubted it.

* * *

><p>My first day at The Crab Shack was turning out to be an interesting one.<p>

I had worked as a waitress at a small diner during high school and it was one of the best and worst experiences of my life. It was the best because the people I worked with were fun and entertaining, I got great hours, and I made a ton of money in tips. It was the worst because I spilled nearly every kind of food and beverage down my shirt, people treated me like a robot and or slave, and the ones that didn't treated me like I was a hot piece of ass there for their viewing pleasure. Plus it was hectic, hard work. People looked down on waiters, bartenders and the little people so much. It was frustrating how much we were underestimated. My hands got plenty dirty, that was for sure, compared to the clean manicured hands of those who had nice office gigs. Still, it helped me put away a good chunk of cash for school, allowed me to have a comfortable income for a high school student, and gave me experience to continue to get serving jobs in college.

Yet I hadn't intended to work at The Crab Shack. On that second day at the beach house, I had hopped in the car with my dad and Jack and a stack of resumes, handing them out to the bike shop, to a jewelry store, an ice cream shop, and a plethora of other restaurants. I had kind of wanted to get a retail gig at one of the smaller stores, something that would allow me to lean at a counter for at least a little while. It seemed like it would be more pleasant work, selling seashell necklaces and wrap dresses to tourists but walking into The Crab Shack, the manager, Rick, hadn't just expressed interest in my resume, and had asked if I was available for an interview right then and there. Apparently one of the other girls had quit the day before and they were short-staffed and overworked. I found I meshed well with Rick, an older, overweight man with a mustache, and the assistant manager Phoebe, who was young and energetic. They offered me nearly two dollars more than I made at my last job and a start date of next week. I accepted and was hired on the spot.

After my run with Carmen, I had gone home and played a little bit of Monopoly with Helen, who hadn't slept while the night before and was a little cranky, until her mom dragged her off for a nap. Afterward, I showered and got ready for work. Our uniform was simple and standard; white button down blouse, black skirt, nylons, and simple black flats. I wore my hair up in a high bun on the top of my head and kept my makeup simple, but still neat. Then I headed off for work.

Rick wasn't in that day, so Phoebe had given me the low down on what was what. She showed me around; where the break room was, where the daily schedule was, what tables I would be waiting on, and introduced me to the other servers and hostesses. The hostesses for the day were two young, high school-aged girls named Beth and Molly. They were sweet, perky, eager to work, and oohed and awed over my shoes, which were patent leather and had little bows on the front. I immediately liked them; they reminded me so much of Hannah at that age.

The other servers ranged from an older man in his late twenties named Adam, who didn't seem particularly interested in socializing, to a woman in her forties named Katie who smiled at me brightly with soft eyes. She definitely seemed like a mom-type. However, there was a girl around my age with long, bright cherry red hair named Chloe who seemed instantly delighted that she was going to have someone else to hang out with, and a boy who seemed maybe a year or two older than us. His name was Zeke, and he had dark chocolate skin and deep eyes, but a smile that was comparable to a golden retriever. I was instantly drawn to both of them.

Yet after two hours running around taking orders, I was also instantly exhausted. I had forgotten all about how hard it actually was. Of course I knew having worked at a diner in California, but it was far more low key, rarely attracted tourists, and was generally a lot calmer than the up and down, never stop moving atmosphere that was The Crab Shack. My feet were killing me, I had already spilled tartar sauce and a diet Coke on my skirt, and was fairly certain that my perfectly tied up hair was falling out into a mess.

"Is it always this crazy?" I asked Zeke, sliding up beside him to tack the order for a particularly rambunctious group of teenagers onto the counter for the cook. He flashed a bright smile at me.

"So far," he said with a laughing, patting me on the shoulder. "But don't worry new girl, you'll get used to it."

Chloe walked into the kitchen at that moment and rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up, Zeke," she said, placing her stack of plates onto the ledge. "You've worked here what, two weeks now? You just got used to it yesterday. You've never survived a whole summer here."

Zeke stuck his tongue out at her before walking over to the bar to fill his drink orders. "Ah, Chloe, spoken like a true summer job slave."

Glaring at him in response, Chloe made her way over to us and took a deep breath. "Okay, so yeah, I've worked here every summer since I was sixteen, sue me. This is your first summer here at all, pretty boy, so you don't have the authority to say that it's always crazy here all of the time."

"Is it, though?" I asked with a smile.

"Is it what?" Chloe responded, blinking.

"Always busy?"

"Oh." Chloe paused, before rolling her eyes and letting out a sigh. "Yes. Yes it is. But it's really not so bad. Zeke, despite his inexperience, is right. You do get used to it."

"See!" Zeke cut in. "She said I was right! Of course I was right. The kitchen is my home, my safe haven. A restaurant is like heaven to me. The food, it speaks to me. It says, 'Zeke, things are always going to be crazy.' It tells me secrets. So I am always right."

At this, Chloe's eyes turned to slits. "Hey, Zeke?" she said coolly.

Zeke perked up, and he moved closer to her, setting a full glass of Sprite onto his tray. "Yeah?"

"You know what I think you should do?" Chloe had lowered her voice so it was soft, husky, and seductive. I raised my eyebrows, amused.

Zeke, however, didn't at all see into her ploy. He moved even closer, placing a hand on her lower back, drawing her against him. "What should I do, Chlo'?"

Bringing her hand around to rip off his from dragging any lower on her body, Chloe smiled a sickly sweet smile. "I think you should go serve your drinks to your table before I dump them down your pants."

Throwing his head back, Zeke let out a laugh. "Ah, Gabi, isn't Chloe a charmer?" he whisked his tray up on one hand with flourish, the move of a true seasoned waiter, and shook his head, still laughing. "Gotta love her!"

Chloe rolled her eyes again and stuck her tongue out at his back. "He is so lame," she mumbled.

I filled up several glasses with iced tea and balanced them on the plate. "I think you don't exactly hate it." I said in a sing song voice.

"Hey, new girl," Chloe placed her hands on her hips. "Shut it."

I laughed as Chloe grabbed the plate of lobster rolls that was slid across to her with a shout of 'order up!' "Duly noted, Chloe. Have you really worked here every year since you were sixteen?"

Chloe nodded, pushing the door open with her hip. "You bet. This place has funded college for me. Now at twenty, I don't know what I'd do without the place. Every year a new bunch of people come in, but Rick and Phoebe always save a spot for me. It sucks sometimes, but hey, at least it's only for the summer."

"Yeah," I said as we made our way over to our respective tables. "At least it's not year round."

"No kidding," Chloe said with a scoff, "I couldn't imagine being a lifer like Adam or Katie. I couldn't deal with...oh, _shit_."

I looked over at Chloe, who had an expression of displeasure on her face. I followed her gaze, and sure enough, sitting there at a table, was one of the last people I would ever want to see.

Sitting there was Sharpay Evans.

"Ugh," Chloe groaned, "not the show poodle. Ugh, please don't let her be in my section. Okay," she let out a deep breath, looking flustered. "Go give your table their drinks, get their orders, and and let's regroup in the kitchen. Stat."

I nodded, unsure of why Chloe was so annoyed at the sight of Sharpay. I knew why I was, but I had no idea why Chloe was. I gave the three girls having a business lunch their drinks, took their orders, and practically ran to the kitchen. Chloe was already there, filling glasses with soda.

"What's the big deal with Sharpay?" I asked as casually as I could, and Chloe looked up at me with wide eyes.

"Sharpay? You know her?" she asked, a look of nervousness spreading across her face. "You're not...friends with her, are you?"

I shook my head quickly. "Oh, god, no! She just..." I paused, trying to figure out the best way to word what I wanted to say. "She's just not my biggest fan."

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah," I slid my order over to the cook. "But she is a big fan of my ex-boyfriend."

Pursing her lips, Chloe shook her head. "That bitch. I had her pegged for one of those lying, backstabbing, cheating ho-bags and of course I was right!" She threw her hands up in aggravation. "She comes in all of the time over the summer, by herself, and gives everyone the hardest time. She complains about everything! The only time I've seen her mildly behave was last week when she came in with her brother and some other guy. Other than that, she is _that_ customer. The one you hate. We were so close to getting Rick and Pheebs to ban her last summer, but it just did not happen."

I took the information in. From what I knew about Sharpay, and had seen, she was certainly no picnic, so it didn't surprise me that she was terrorizing local eateries in her free-time. "That's ridiculous," I muttered. "What a bitch."

"I know, right?" Chloe groaned. "And for some reason, she always ends up getting seated in my section! Always! I can't stand it!"

As if on cue, Zeke waltzed in in a flurry of excitement. "Gabi, you have to switch tables with me!" he said quickly. "The hottest girl ever is sitting in your section!"

"Ugh!" Chloe moaned loudly. "See! I—" she looked at Zeke, as if she prematurely processed the information. "Wait, she's seated in Gabi's section."

Zeke nodded. "Yes! And therefore, she must switch with me!"

I blanched. "Deal. Take her. No problem." There was no way in hell I was dealing with Sharpay Evans on my first day of work. I was having a perfectly wonderful time and she was bound to ruin it.

"Yes!" Zeke pumped his fist in the air. "Thank you! Thank you for switching tables!"

"Oh, no you don't," a voice said out of no where, and we all turned around to see Adam standing there, his arms and hands balancing numerous plates. "You are not switching tables. You know the rules."

Zeke frowned. "But Adam—"

"No buts!" the older man said. "That's unfair to the rest of us and you know it. And what are you lot doing? We're in the middle of a lunch time rush and you guys are back here gossiping. Don't let me catch you again or I'll tell Rick and it will be your jobs! Get back out there!"

Moving as fast as we could muster, we grabbed our orders and practically ran out. "Would Rick really fire us?" I whispered to Chloe as the kitchen doors closed behind us.

"Of course not," she whispered back. "Adam is just a bitter hag. Ignore him."

I glanced over at Sharpay and swallowed. Chloe squeezed my elbow lightly. "Good luck," she said, heading back over to her table.

Standing up a little straighter, I smoothed out my skirt and walked over to Sharpay's table. She was wearing a bright pink sundress and her long blonde hair was wavy and loose, as if she had spent all morning swimming on the beach. I knew she hadn't; I had once overheard her telling a group of giggling girls that she spent an hour every morning achieving the perfect beach bedhead look without even stepping foot in the water. It seemed like a complete waste to me, but she seemed to disagree. Her legs were crossed, her lips glossed, and her fingers running up and down the screen of her iPhone.

When I arrived at her table, I cleared my throat and slapped the sweetest and fakest smile I could on my face. "Good afternoon, miss!" I said brightly, "My name is Gabriella and I'll be your server today. Would you like to hear today's specials?"

Sharpay looked up from her phone and burst into laughter. "Oh lord, Montez," she said, looking me up and down. "Are you really working at The Crab Shack?"

Ignoring her, I began to go through my memorized speech. "We are offering a crab bisque and biscuits for only $7.99 today, and—"

"I mean, I guess you would have to find something to fill your days," she carried on, ignoring me, "given that this summer is a little different for you. You know, since Troy isn't your shadow this summer."

I felt myself tense. "Sharpay, this isn't the time," I hissed, annoyed. "I'm working."

"I know, and we are making conversation about it," she said sweetly. "How did you take the break up, by the way? I heard you were devastated." When I didn't say anything, she continued. "I mean, this summer must be really weird. Really awkward, right?"

Leaning back in her chair, she twirled a strand of hair around her finger and looked at me with the most put on pity I had ever witnessed. I hated that I was the recipient of it. "You know, I had lunch with Troy here last week. He said that you guys are still friends, but said he's not in love with you anymore, and you, well, it always seemed like you were more into him. So it must be really hard to see him all of the time, right?"

She shook her head, as if she actually felt sorry for me. "That must be so awful. He didn't seem to know how to handle having you and your...feelings around, so it must be doubly hard for you. I mean, what is it like, having him sleeping across the hall from you and not being able to crawl into his bed for a snuggle?"

I tilted my head to the side, as if I was honestly considering the question. "You know what," I began, "it is really weird. I'm not really sure how to handle it, you're right. I was wondering if maybe you could give me some pointers? Since you've always been wanting to crawl in bed with him and never having been able to. What's that like?"

Sharpay shrunk back, her mouth open slightly before her jaw tightened. "I saw you at the beach, you know," she raised her eyebrows, "the way you threw yourself at him and then ran off."

I felt myself stiffen and it was if all of the commotion in the restaurant was completely gone. As if I were no longer there and I was reliving the beach all over again. But Sharpay kept talking.

"I know your act, Gabriella," she spat, "you act like he's the one dragging you around, making all of the drama, but you are too. You were the one who kissed him, you threw yourself at him. Not the other way around. And you fucked with his head last summer too, but no one knows that, do they? No one else seems to realize that it takes two to tango."

Sharpay looked at me, very seriously, very pointedly then. "So I'm telling you to stay away from him. Keep up your little game of staying away from him. Cause you know what? You can't handle him, and you don't get him, and more than that, you don't deserve him. So back off and let him be with someone who will care about him and treat him right, and while you're at it, get me a new waiter."

I let Sharpay's words run over me. She was right in a sense. It did take two to tango. But she was wrong in telling me to back off from Troy. Who was she to prance in here with her bullshit and act like she knew anything about the situation? Troy was never one to confide in anyone, but especially not someone like Sharpay. I may have not been the perfect girlfriend, but at least I didn't follow him around like a sick puppy like she did. Suddenly, I wanted to punch her in the face. Instead, I smiled.

"I'm afraid I can't do that miss," I said sweetly, "so why don't you drop the personal bullshit and give me your order before I cause a scene and attempt to have you physically removed? This is my first day and you will not fuck it up for me, Evans. So," I let out a breath. "What can I get for you?"

Sharpay blinked twice, as if she were surprised that I didn't burst into tears or retaliate. Rolling her eyes, she ordered a shrimp salad, hold the shrimp, and an iced tea. The cook spit in her food, and she ate two forkfuls before complaining that the lettuce was wilted and the shrimp underdone, before she stood, paid, and left.

She didn't leave a tip.

* * *

><p>I stumbled in the doorway a few hours later, my feet killing me and my head throbbing. After Sharpay had left, I worked hard at trying to forget the incident and shove it to the back of my mind. Sharpay was a drama student at Julliard, and to say she didn't enjoy the theatrics of everyday life would be a joke. So her threat was nothing but annoying, when it came down to it.<p>

Still, the thought of her trying to advance further on Troy bothered me. The thought of her succeeding? I didn't even want to give it any thought.

Yet I couldn't help it. She mentioned that she had had lunch with Troy the week before. What if things between them were different now? What if he did confide in her? I didn't think he would, but still, that tiny bit of doubt that told me I didn't know him at all anymore nagged at me. Maybe he would confide in Sharpay. Maybe he would love her. Maybe that's who he was now.

Feeling tired and angry, I slid off my shoes in the doorway. Chloe had given me a ride home and she, Zeke, and I made plans to hang out on the beach in a couple of days so they could meet Chad. I was really looking forward to it, happy to have found a little group of friends at the summer house. Friends that didn't include Troy.

My throat felt dry, and I began to make my way into the kitchen. Just as I was about to step inside, however, I glimpsed Troy going coming in down the steps from upstairs. Shit! I thought, hiding behind the door frame.

I was still trying to avoid him, and an encounter in the kitchen was the last thing we needed. Plus, he looked good, dressed in a grey t-shirt and khaki shorts that hung low on his hips. His hair was slightly wet, and I wondered if he had been surfing or if he had showered. I then wondered why I cared about it at all.

_Hurry up_, I thought to myself as he made his way over to the cupboards. _Please just be grabbing a piece of fruit or a drink or something and go_. I had to go through the kitchen not only to get my drink, but to get upstairs to my room. I silently prayed that he wasn't going to make a sandwich and sit down and eat it, because then I'd either have to sit outside the kitchen all evening, or go outside and try to climb the drain pipe and crawl in through my window.

I watched as he rifled through the cupboard, reaching in to the very back. He pulled out a very small, orange bottle, and I felt my heart speed up as he opened the lid and dropped two small, round pills into his hand, before closing it. He set them down on the counter, and filled a glass with water, before picking up the bottle and placing it in the very back of the cupboard. Then he picked up the pills and the glass of water, and walked back up the stairs.

And then he was gone.

From my spot behind the door frame, I moved, my limbs feeling like jelly, into the kitchen. Unsure if the coast was clear, I moved quietly, slowly, as if scared to make any sound. I stood there in complete silence for a moment, waiting to see if he'd come back down the stairs. I stood there for almost two minutes, not moving, before I walked over the cupboard and practically ripped it open.

Reaching in the cupboard, behind the jars and cans, I felt around for the bottle. Behind a can of chicken soup, my fingers closed around it, and I pulled it out. Turning it over in my hand, I read the label quickly.

_Benazepril. Bolton. Take twice daily_, it read.

Holding the bottle tightly, I felt like I might faint, my heart was beating so fast. I felt sick and dizzy, and my stomach dropped to the floor. I braced myself against the counter, my head spinning.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

And I had no idea what.

* * *

><p><strong>So guess what! Now that Zeke and Chloe have made their appearance, all of the major players of the fic are now introduced! This means we are finally through with introduction! Now the ball will really get rolling, given that there are two important plot points in this chapter!<strong>

**FUN FUN FUN.**

**Also up on my profile I've listed the original characters in this story along with the actors I envision to portray them. In my head. Cause I'm a nerd.**

**Tracks at my LJ as usual, and of course, my betas are more awesome than usual. I love you guys!**

**Also thank you all so much for the support! It means so much to me! I wish I could have gotten this up earlier (lol at me saying it might be up Sunday...) but I have been working a lot! Don't hate me! Next update will be in a few days!**


	6. When Girls Stop By For the Summer

**I Love You More Than French Fries**

Chapter 6: When Girls Stop By For the Summer

"_Hold on to your thumbs, tighten your eyelids, lock up your ears, my dear, I'm verbal when I am loaded. Duck under that desk, cover your neck, thicken your skin as I begin to shoot myself in the foot again._"

- Foot Shooter by Frightened Rabbit

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><p>I had my first kiss when I was eleven years old. The girl I kissed was named Judy, and she was blonde, had big blue eyes, pale skin, and was basically the exact opposite of my best friend in every single way possible. We sat beside each other in class, our teacher having imposed seating arrangements during the first week of school, and since I was eleven, I was at that point where girls were both totally gross, but not totally bad at the same time.<p>

And to me, Judy was anything but bad.

She was the very definition of a girlie girl, but not in the obnoxious, pampered way that Sharpay grew to be. She just preferred wearing lace dresses with pink sashes over overalls and polka dotted t-shirts. Which was fine, because like I said, she wasn't obnoxious about it. So while I would roll my eyes at Sharpay's tendencies to scream bloody murder every time she got even the slightest speck of mud on her skin, Judy's seemed endearing. She was too delicate for mud and acting like a tomboy.

So we sat beside each other all year, talking quietly in between lessons. Judy was terrible at math, and I happened to be really good at math, so she'd cheat off me in tests and I would let her. I liked helping her; it made me feel manly and important, and she'd always smile and blush afterward, thanking me softly. I would feel my own cheeks blush and tell her it was no problem. In retrospect, I probably wasn't helping her at all, as I am pretty sure she had to do extra credit to pass math in high school in order to graduate. But at the time, I felt on top of the world.

Before I knew it, I officially had a crush on her.

Crushes are a funny thing, especially at that age. I was convinced I was in love and that Judy was in love with me and that we were going to be together forever. I thought about Judy all of the time, her soft blonde hair and blue eyes, pretty dresses and delicate demeanor. It was the most innocent crush I had ever had. The purest of puppy love. All I wanted to do was hold her hand and get to call her my girlfriend.

But crushes were so innocent back then that girlfriend was hardly a real definition. Boyfriends and girlfriends at that age held hands and walked home from school, and sometimes talked on the phone at night. If they were lucky, they'd get a kiss on the cheek once in a while, and if they were really lucky, they'd get to have an actual peck on the lips.

It was a very weird thing, looking back on it, the way that things were outlined. But I liked Judy, I really liked Judy. So one day after school, I went to my mom, and told her I liked a girl and asked her what should I do about it.

My mother had smiled warmly. "Well," she began, slowly, as we sat at the kitchen table around a plate of milk and cookies. "Do you think she likes you back?"

I shrugged. "I don't know," I mumbled, feeling shy and uncomfortable. I just wanted my mom to tell me what to do without getting really complicated. "I think so."

"Well, then maybe you should tell her how you feel!" my mom said enthusiastically, not at all worried that her only son may get his heart broken in the process. "It's the only way you'll know?"

Slumping into my seat, I sighed. "I don't know, Mom," I mumbled, "it's kind of scary."

"Oh, Troy, I am sure you'll be fine," my mom responded, patting my back. "Just tell Gabriella how you feel and it will all be fine!"

At this, I choked on my cookie. "What?" I gaped, crumbs falling out of my mouth. "Tell Gabriella?"

"Well, yes," my mother blinked twice. "That is who you like, isn't it?"

I shook my head fiercely, feeling my face flush. "What? No! Mom, I don't like Gabriella like that at all!"

My mother looked slightly taken aback as while as completely confused, and she frowned at me. "I...if you don't like Gabriella, then who do you like?"

"Her name is Judy, mom!" I folded my arms. "I know other girls, you know!"

Bringing her hands up in front of her, my mother nodded. "I know, I know! Then I think you should tell...Judy, how you feel!"

"Maybe I will!" I said, annoyed that my mom thought I liked Gabriella out of all people. Of course now, my mom was able to see what I didn't figure out for nearly five more years, but at least I figured it out at sixteen rather than never. But I took my mom's advice. I went, told Judy I liked her, and to my immense happiness and satisfaction, she told me she liked me back.

We were boyfriend and girlfriend by lunch time.

The first (and only time) I kissed Judy had been two weeks into our 'relationship.' I kissed her behind a tree after school. It was a Wednesday and I had been so nervous that we nearly bumped noses, and even though it lasted less than a second, it was the best moment of my life thus far. I wanted to shout from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know that I, Troy Bolton, had kissed Judy Monroe.

So I did the only thing I could think of at eleven years old. I called Gabriella.

"Hey, Gabriella, guess what?" I babbled excitedly over the phone line.

Gabriella gave a soft giggle at my eager tone. "I don't know, what?"

"I kissed Judy!" I said quickly. "I'm a man now!"

There was a long pause in which I feared that for a moment, she had hung up. "Gabi?" I said quickly. "Are you still there?"

A rustling noise followed on the other end. "Why are you telling me this?" Gabriella asked, her voice small and meek.

I was confused. "Because you're my best friend and I wanted to tell someone, so I figured I'd tell you."

Gabriella let out an annoyed scoff. "Troy, why would I want to hear about you kissing other girls. I am a girl!"

"So?" I asked, not at all getting the point. "What difference does that make?"

"You're so thick, Troy!" Gabriella yelled hotly. "I don't want to hear about you kissing other girls!"

"She's my girlfriend, Gabi!" I protested meekly. "You're a girl, too. You're my best friend. I don't...I don't understand..."

Gabriella let out an aggravated huff. "I'm jealous okay!"

I processed the information for a moment. Gabriella was jealous? Of what? Like so many things, I had little experience with jealousy. At that point, I was an only child, so I never had to clamor for my parents attention and I was spoiled rotten. What would Gabriella possibly be jealous of?

"What are you jealous of?" I paused for a moment. "Are you jealous of me? Cause I kissed someone before you?"

There was another long pause where Gabriella huffed angrily. "Yes, Troy, that is totally why," she said annoyed, before hanging up. I shrugged it off as girls being weird and went back to thinking about how awesome I was for kissing Judy.

Of course, Gabriella had already figured out at nine years old what took me until sixteen; that she and I...we clicked. She later would admit to me that she was extremely jealous of Judy (and all of my subsequent girlfriends) and secretly rejoiced every time each new prospect didn't work out.

But I had never had this feeling. Gabriella had always been mine. I didn't know what it was like to want someone who was with someone else. And until that summer, I never thought I would have to.

I thought I'd never have to be jealous or kiss anyone else again, cause Gabriella and I? We were it.

It's funny how wrong you can be about things.

* * *

><p>I used to be a morning person.<p>

Back in high school, I would wake up around five thirty or six in the morning and go for a run. Sometimes it would be a mile, sometimes it'd end up being five. It all depended on how much time I had and how much energy I had. Then I'd get home, shower, send Gabriella a traditional good morning text (I believed it was the little things) and eat breakfast, before dragging myself to class. I continued this routine in university, thinking that time management and good health were the key to good grades, which, logically speaking, they definitely contributed to.

The mornings I woke up next to Gabriella were my favourite, as were the nights we spent together. Since the bulk of our time together took place over the summer, everyday was warm and nearly everyday was sunny. I always woke up before her; she was a girl who appreciated her sleep, even if it meant she only slept in till eight. Sometimes I'd wrap my arm around her, drag her closer, and simply watch her. Watch as her breath escaped in slow, even inhales and exhales, as her chest would press against mine and then shrink back. Twist her hair around my fingers and trace her cheek bones. Watch the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks in a way that made me want to write poetry, even though I was far from the type of guy who would write poetry.

I knew nothing about poetry, but Gabriella made me want to know everything about it. Mornings with her were so different, I wanted to document them in a real, special way. I never did, though, instead I merely stored the thoughts and memories and feelings away in a box inside my heart, opening it when I missed her. I thought I would always continue adding to it. I did, but they weren't the kind of memories that fit amongst the soft ones; they were dark and rough. So I created a separate box for them, and locked them away, and never opened them.

Other times, when I was feeling less romantic, less sappy, I would drag her out of bed and onto the beach for a run. She always begrudged me, always was angry, and pouted, but watching the day come alive in front of us always got her in the end. She loved seeing the surfers come out for the best waves; on several occasions, I would wake up before her and go out to surf and come back before she had even moved. Then I would crawl back into bed and wake her up and we'd have breakfast. Once or twice she woke up and went down to the beach and found me. Every time, it was wonderful.

I loved mornings. I loved the feel of them, of the sun still so bright and new, of having an entire day ahead of you, full of endless possibilities and excitement. I believed in early to bed, early to rise. I lived it.

All that changed last year.

Suddenly sleep became more coveted. Something I wanted more. I began sleeping in till seven, sometimes eight. Eventually it was nine, ten, and eleven. Now I had to be dragged out of bed, had to have someone scream in my ear, crash symbols, lure me out with the smell of bacon. I started running at night and stayed up until the early hours of the morning, ones that I never saw because I was peacefully sleeping, not ready to rise for a while yet. I started to hate mornings. I was always alone and I was always cautious as to what the day would hold.

Sleeping was easier. It meant not having to deal.

So on one particular morning, when my phone kept going off, over and over again, I would have given anything to make it stop. I'd put it on vibrate, but the vibrations grew to be annoying after the third call. I put it on silent, but I somehow could still see the bright light blinking at me that I had a missed call. No matter what I did, I was aware that the phone was ringing and that it was pissing me off.

Who would even be calling me so early anyway? I mused, rolling over on to my back, hoping desperately, wishing that maybe it would stop. But I could still see my phone flashing. It wouldn't be any of the few friends I had, and it wouldn't be a family member, and it certainly wouldn't be an angry boss or co-worker, given that I hadn't bothered to secure a job for the summer.

Rolling over, I glanced at the clock. It was already after noon, so it really wasn't like whoever was calling me was being rude or impolite. Noon was a perfectly acceptable time to call anyone. The air felt sticky and thick that day, like it usually did before a storm, and I peered at the window out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough the sky was white, grey, cloudy, and overcast. It was probably going to rain.

Deciding it was better to just answer the phone and be done with it, I sat up and grabbed my iPhone, answering the call too quickly to check the caller ID. As soon as I did, I instantly wished I hadn't answered.

"You are living with such a bitch, Troy!" came a shrill, annoyed voice.

It was Sharpay.

There was one way to never start your day, and that was by talking to Sharpay. I had encountered a morning with her exactly twice. The first time was when we were very young, and her mother had invited Gabriella and I over for a sleepover with she and Ryan. It hadn't gone very well, because Sharpay wanted to play dress up and house and princesses, and well, the rest of us wanted to play Pokemon Snap and Uno and Monopoly and build sandcastles. Sharpay had cried and Gabriella, being two years younger and the youngest member there, had tried to comfort her, insisting that we should compromise. At that age, without the animosity and the jealousy, Sharpay had nodded and agreed. So we played Princesses in which Sharpay and Gabriella were the Princesses and Ryan and I the dutiful knights. Afterward we played Pokemon Stadium afterward, because Snap wasn't as fun, and then we all had pizza for dinner and watched movies. The next morning we woke up, had pancakes, and Sharpay said it was the best night of her life.

In comparison, the second time I spent a morning with Sharpay, she was drunk as a skunk. Two summers ago, she had gotten really drunk at a beach party and begged to stay the night. Gabriella had rolled her eyes and I sighed, explaining that she probably wouldn't leave us (or me, rather) alone until we agreed to let her stay. She claimed that her parents would kill her, but I imagined the most she would get would be a verbal slap on the wrist. Needless to say, we let her stay, and she insisted upon staying in my room. I think her plans were crushed, however, when Gabriella came in with a sleeping bag for her before cuddling up in my covers and saying goodnight. So Sharpay slept on the floor and Gabriella and I in my bed, and Sharpay woke us up in the morning saying she was going to be sick.

Gabriella told her the direction of the bathroom before burrowing further under the duvet.

I thought of these two times both fondly and both with annoyance as Sharpay screeched in my ear. I sighed and sat up, propping my arms on my bent knees. "What are you talking about, Sharpay?"

"Gabriella!" she hissed back. "She is a bitch!"

I narrowed my eyes, though Sharpay could not see it. "Um, okay," I mumbled, "is that all? Cause I have some more sleep I could use."

"What? No!" Sharpay's voice tended to get higher the angrier she got. "She's a bitch! Do you not want to know what she said to me?"

Flopping back on my bed, I looked up at the ceiling, feeling my head pound. I was both aggravated and apathetic. "Not really," I answered honestly. Then the situation became a little more clearer to me and I furrowed my brows. "Wait, when did you talk to Gabriella?"

"Yesterday!" Sharpay snapped. "At the Crab Shack! She threatened to have me removed! Can you believe it?"

My full attention was on Sharpay now. "Wait, Gabriella threatened to have you kicked out?" I blinked. "What did you do to her?"

Sharpay let out a scoff of indignation. "Me? I did nothing! I just came in for lunch."

"Sharpay," I said, annoyed, "Gabriella works there. She wouldn't be rude to you or try to kick you out just because."

"Yes she would!" Sharpay insisted, and I could feel my patience running thin.

I groaned, running a hand over my face. "Sharpay, I don't want to have this conversation. This is between you and Gabriella, and you knew she worked there. I don't know why you felt the need to go and terrorize her."

"I didn't know she worked there!" Sharpay insisted, her voice rushed and low, like it often got when she lied. "How was I supposed to know she worked there?"

"You saw her when we went to lunch a couple of weeks ago, Sharpay!" I gritted my teeth. "I saw you look at her! Not to mention I told you!"

Sharpay let out another scoff. "I don't commit things like that to memory, Troy, why would I—"

"Sharpay," I cut her off. "I don't know what you think you are accomplishing by doing this, cause all you're doing is pissing me off."

Her end of the line got very quiet then, very somber, and I felt my heart speed up. The problem with Sharpay was that she was downright awful, but I never wanted to actually hurt her feelings. She seemed more insecure, less tough than a good majority of other girls. Plus I had known her for years and despite all of her bad (and there was a lot of it) she was also genuinely good. She just lost sight of how to be good every once in a while.

I heard her swallow thickly. "Why do you always take her side?"

I closed my eyes. "Sharpay—"

"You always do, Troy!" she spat and I could tell she was crying. "About everything! You won't even hear my side of the story because you immediately think I was the one antagonizing her! That's completely unfair, Troy! You always take her side, Troy!"

"That's because I—" I caught myself before I continued.

"You what?" Sharpay wasn't having it, though, jumping on my words like white on rice. "You what, Troy?"

I shook my head. "Nevermind, Shar," I said, slowly. "It's nothing."

"But I—"

"No, look, Shar," I let out a heavy sigh. "Just ignore Gabriella and she will ignore you. Don't bother her and things will be fine."

Sharpay sniffled. "Okay. Hey, did you want to do something tonight?" she asked, her voice suddenly lighter, brighter. "Ryan and I could come over and we could hang out on the dock and stuff!"

"It's supposed to rain, I think," I said, taking another look out the window.

"Then we'll be indoors!" Sharpay said, brightly once more. "Please, Troy?"

Despite my better judgement, I ended up saying yes, and Sharpay squealed excitedly in my ear, saying she'd be over around eight. Finally hanging up my phone, I jumped off my bed and made my way downstairs into the kitchen.

Gabriella was sitting there, a plate of sliced cucumbers in front of her. She sat up a little straighter upon seeing me.

"Oh, Troy!" she said, seeming frazzled. "You're awake! Good!"

I looked at her strangely. Gabriella hadn't greeted me this pleasantly all summer. In fact, I don't think she had bothered greeting me at all. I was perched on the second last step of the staircase and moved slowly, cautiously, as if a bomb was about to go off any second.

"Um, yeah," I said, softly. "I slept in a little."

Gabriella shifted, pushing her plate in front of her. "I see!" she said, smilingly awkwardly. "Well, that's good then!"

I blinked, trying to register exactly what was happening. Here Gabriella was trying to have a normal, boring, average conversation. I wasn't sure if we had ever had a conversation like this before. Shrugging to myself, I wandered into the kitchen and pulled a bowl out of the cupboards as Gabriella sat nervously in the chair at the table, wringing her hands together. I wanted to say something to ease the tension, so show that I was okay with this. But I was nervous, too, so keeping my hands and mind busy by making breakfast seemed easier.

"What finally dragged you out of bed?" Gabriella asked, her tone still light. She gave a soft, rushed giggle. "I heard your phone ringing for almost twenty minutes."

Opening the pantry, I looked at my cereal choices as I tried to answer as calmly as possible. Cheerios, Fruit Loops, Frosted Flakes, and granola. "Ah, my phone, like you said," I replied. "It was just Sharpay."

Gabriella paused and I looked over my shoulder at her. Her face had gone slightly red and she was looking at me with wide eyes. "Oh!" she said, surprised. "Sharpay, huh?" A beat passed before she blinked and began hurriedly, "Troy whatever she said, I am telling you, it's not true. Well some of it might be true, but she definitely—"

"Gabriella!" I cut her off, smiling at how cute she was when she babbled. "I know. I believe you." I didn't add the part where I'd believe her over Sharpay any day. I hoped it was implied.

She only flushed further. "Oh," she said, turning back to her cucumbers. She shoved one in her mouth and chewed. "Good."

Pouring the cereal into my bowl, I decided I didn't want to end our conversation just yet. "Where is everyone else?" I asked, partly because I really wanted to know, and partly just to keep things between us flowing.

Leaning back in her chair, Gabriella brought a hand to her chin in thought. "Our dads are fishing as per usual. Your mom, my mom, and Carmen are downtown, wedding stuff I guess. Helen's upstairs napping; we all went down to the beach this morning and she got kind of tuckered out."

I frowned, quirking an eyebrow. "It's overcast, though."

Gabriella shrugged. "Like that's ever stopped any of us before." She stood up suddenly, dropping her plate in the sink. "I'm going out to meet some friends, though. Unless you wanted me to stay and watch Helen?"

I shook my head. "No, I can watch her. You go."

Nodding, Gabriella began to make her way over to the staircase that led upstairs. "Thanks, Troy," she said, smiling once more. She ascended the stairs slowly, before pausing, and turning to me. "Have a good day!"

With that, she ran up the remaining steps and was gone from my sight.

After she left, I ate my cereal slowly, trying to process everything without being overly confused. It was impossible; the whole situation had confused me entirely. I was bewildered. Deciding to just take it for what it was (a good thing), I finished my cereal, put my dish in the sink, and glanced at the clock. Taking note of the time, I reached into the back of the cupboard for the small bottle hidden there. Feeling my heart tighten at the sight, I opened the lid, and dropped two small red pills into my hands, before filling a glass of water, and going back up the stairs.

* * *

><p>"This is nice!" Sharpay said, sighing slightly as she settled on the deck chair, looking out at the water. "Isn't this nice? It's a beautiful evening."<p>

Ryan rolled his eyes and shot me a look. I smirked. While I was just amused by the efforts his sister was making, Ryan himself was downright annoyed. I had a feeling he didn't want to be hanging out with us tonight, and often wondered what it was that Ryan did when he wasn't attached to his sister.

Growing up, the Evans had been a pair. Where one went, the other went. They were twins, and they were the very definition of the word. It appeared that they could read each other's mind, sense each other's feelings, and finish each other's sentences. A bond that transcended over the average. They were both very into theatre, acting, dance, and music, and their parents wholeheartedly encouraged it. From the time they were old enough to walk, they had created something of a brother-sister duo on stage act. It carried on until about high school, when Ryan grew disinterested in Sharpay's never ending, constant dramatics and need for the spotlight. Eventually, their brother-sister act ended and they became to separate identities.

Somehow, though, they still both ended up at Julliard.

Despite the fact that they were not as close during the other nine months of the year, there was something about summer that made Sharpay attach a leash to Ryan and attempt to drag him around with her all summer. I could tell he never seemed into it much, and often I wondered if he even really liked me. We never hung out with Sharpay around, and even then, sometimes I could see him wearing tired with our conversations and antics. Things were easier when Gabriella hung out with us; Ryan liked her quite a bit and she was fabulous at putting Sharpay in her place and also defusing tension. However, after things with Gabi and I had gone sour, it seemed that things between Ryan and I had as well. I found myself wondering if he had other friends at the beach, if he knew more people than just the handful of us and Sharpay. I was certain he did; he was friendly and outgoing, how could he not?

I wondered how many other places in the world he'd rather be that evening than sitting on a deck chair with myself and his sister. I expected there were plenty.

As it was, Sharpay and he had come over that evening, just as she had said that morning. My parents and the Montez' had gone to an art exhibition gala..._thing_, in town, and had taken Helen with them. Gabriella was out on the beach with her friends, people I knew nothing of (mostly, at least), so it was just us in the summer house that evening. Sharpay had reveled at this, delighted to have the house to ourselves. I had expected her to suggest we do something wild like throw a party or break into the liquor cabinet, but instead she had instead begged us to watch _Dirty Dancing_, which we had inexplicably agreed to. As a result, I had almost fallen asleep and Ryan spent the entire time texting (he may be a dance major, but I had a feeling _Dirty Dancing_ wasn't up his alley). Afterward, we had decided to sit on the deck and watch the non-existent sunset.

So of course Sharpay was considering it a good night. We were just doing things she wanted to do.

"I_ said_," Sharpay said, more loudly this time, "isn't this a lovely night?"

"The loveliest," Ryan said, just as his phone went off. "Don't you agree, Troy?"

I nodded, looking out at the beach, and it's overcast, grey sky growing dark. "Yeah, it's great," I mumbled.

Sharpay let out another content sigh, bringing her hands behind her head and stretching out her legs. "Ah, this is what summer is all about, boys," she said with a grin. "The quiet, lovely summer nights. Where you just do nothing at all."

"_PARTY_!" came a loud, piercing female voice and I looked over to the steps that led from the beach up to the house. Gabriella was making her way up the stairs, giggling, a small redhead perched in between she and another boy I didn't know. Behind her was Chad Danforth, a case of empty beer bottles in his hands. I stiffened.

Sharpay let out a snort. "Oh, great," she said, rolling her eyes. "Someone call the garbageman, it's time for a trash pickup."

"Sharpay," Ryan looked at her over his phone. "Shut up."

She balked, as if surprised that no one else agreed with her. "What?" she asked, waving her hand. "It's Chloe Anders. It doesn't surprise me that Gabriella is friends with her, I mean—"

At this, I cut in. "Sharpay," I gritted my teeth. "Shut up."

She fell silent.

As Gabriella and her friends made their way up the steps, I felt my heart rate pick up. Not only was Gabriella home early (which was weird under normal circumstances, but it made me feel even more weird given our exchange this morning), but Chad was here as well. Up until last summer, Chad had been my best friend here at the summer house.

We did everything together; we ran together in the mornings (sometimes Gabriella joined us, sometimes she didn't), we surfed, we played silly kid games together when we were younger. Then of course, everything happened and blew up, and like anyone with any sense, he sided with Gabriella. They had always been closer, of course; it was through Gabriella that I had met Chad at all. Still, it was nice having a male counterpart; after all, in addition to not ever really being sure where I stood with Ryan, he and I had little to nothing in common.

So like everything about summers of the past, I missed Chad just as much.

The girl with the bright red hair stumbled slightly onto the deck, throwing her head back and laughing. "Party, party, partying, partying, yeah!" she flopped into one of the empty deck chairs, as if completely oblivious to the fact that there were other people there. "Fun, fun, think about fun. Ah, that's my _jam_."

Gabriella and the boy beside her burst into giggles as Chad came up and took a seat next to her on the chair. "Scoot over," he murmured, "and calm down. You have company."

The girl looked up and looked around, before bursting into giggles once more. "Oh!" she said, covering her face. "How embarrassing."

Gabriella hid her own giggles behind her hand before turning to us. "Sorry guys," she said, smiling so large it looked like her face might split. I hadn't seen her that happy in ages. "We were just hanging out and Chloe got a little bit too tipsy, so we decided to just come home before she disturbed anyone. I hope that's alright."

I nodded, smiling slightly. "It's okay," I said, "this is your house, too."

"This is true," Gabriella said, taking a seat on one of the deck chairs. "The drunk girl is Chloe, and this is Zeke. We work together at The Crab Shack. Everyone knows Chad, I think."

"Yes! Everyone knows good old, neighborhood friendly Chad!" he said, placing the empty beer bottles on the ground.

Sharpay shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Way to crash the party," she said under her breath, and I saw Chloe sit up, smoothing the skirt of her purple sundress over her legs.

"Wait a minute," Chloe said, scrunching her nose. "Why is Blondie here?"

Folding her arms, Sharpay glared at her. "I'm friends with Troy, thank you very much, and I was here before you."

Zeke blinked, looking at Sharpay confused. "Um, is that a problem, miss?" he said, his voice laying on the charm thickly. "Cause we can leave..."

"No, really," I shook my head, sitting up quickly. The last thing I wanted was for Gabriella's friends to feel unwelcome because of Sharpay. "Stay, really."

Chloe had her gaze directed on me for a moment, and I had a feeling she knew exactly who I was and what I had done to Gabriella. "Thank you kind sir," she said finally, before turning to Sharpay. "That's twice that you've tried to get your way and failed!"

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "How are you even still working at the Crab Shack after all of these years, Anders? With that crass mouth of yours, it's a real wonder."

"You, my dear," Chloe began, eyes narrowing, "are a bitch. You need to loosen the fuck up."

At this, Chloe burst into giggles, which set off Chad, and eventually Gabriella and Zeke. I felt myself smirking and if I didn't know better, Ryan was definitely guffawing beside me.

"You really need to loosen up!" Chloe exclaimed. "I swear, you are way too tense! And I can think of the most perfect way to do so!"

Gabriella quirked and eyebrow. "Really?" she laughed.

"Yes! It will help all of us bond, too!" Chloe clapped her hands and picked up the small handbag she carried with her, before digging into it's contents and depositing a small package. "Strip poker!"

She revealed a deck of baby blue playing cards and Gabriella let out another shriek of laughter. "Chloe!" she said, "you cannot be serious! You're drunk!"

"No, I'm not!" Chloe laughed. "Come on, it'll be fun! We should break into your parents liquor cabinet and take shots too!"

Ryan furrowed his brow. "How can you turn strip poker into a drinking game?"

"Easy! You just take a shot every time you lose a piece of clothing," Chloe said with a roll of her eyes. "Duh! Come on, who's with me! It'll be fun!"

Gabriella bit her lip. "I don't know..."

"Are you all chickens?" Chloe said, nudging Chad. "What about you Danforth? Are you in?"

Chad shrugged. "Sure," he flashed a toothy grin. "Why not?"

"What about the rest of you?" Chloe stood up and placed her hands on her hips.

"I'm in."

Everyone's heads snapped over to Sharpay, who had been quiet up until that point. She looked very serious, very determined. Sharpay was never one to back down from a challenge, but she was also a great poker player. She probably figured she could take this no problem.

Chances were, she could.

"Oh!" Chloe grinned. "Blondie's in! Come on the rest of you, let's do this!"

With a little more prodding, everyone agreed, and Chloe was clapping her hands excitedly. "Okay, yes!" she sat down on the deck, motioning for everyone to join her. "How much money does everyone have?"

"I have five bucks," Gabriella said, tossing it in front of Chloe. The redhead looked at it skeptically.

"Gabi, you are lying. You have way more than that!"

Gabriella shrugged with a quick smirk. "I do. You're just not getting it."

I laughed, forking over a ten dollar bill, as Sharpay threw in a twenty and Ryan a handful of quarters. Zeke dropped in a twenty as well, and Chad gave coupons to McDonald's. Chloe frowned at this.

"Cheapskate!" she snapped. "We don't even have a McDonald's in town!"

Chloe quickly organized the pot, dealing out the cards and instructing Gabriella and I to go get shot classes and liquor. Gabriella shot me a wary glance.

"I can go get them," I said, standing up quickly. "Don't worry about it."

Gabriella shook her head and stood up as well. "No, it's okay," she said, coming to stand beside me. "We can go together."

We made our way into the house through the screen door. Walking to the kitchen, Gabriella let out a sigh.

"I'm really sorry about this," she said once we entered the kitchen. "I didn't think Chloe would propose something like this. We probably ruined your night."

I shook my head. "No, really," I said with a soft smile. "It's okay. You made it better."

Gabriella grinned. "Well, if I was hanging out with Sharpay all night, I guess I'd feel the same way."

Laughing, once again I was startled by the way Gabriella was treating me. She was being so civil, so nice. Something was definitely up, but I had no idea what. "I'll take the liquor cabinet," I instructed, "you grab cups."

Breaking into the liquor cabinet was something I had done every summer since I was sixteen. I swear our parents never used it, so it kind of confused me why they kept alcohol in the house at all. The hard stuff, at least. They were all wine and beer drinkers. As a result, they never noticed when a little (or a lot) of vodka or rum was gone. It wasn't even hard to crack the lock. Just a quick shimmy of the lock with a safety pin and it snapped open. I grabbed a bottle of tequila, half full from a bender I had been on at the end of last summer, and closed up the cabinet. When I turned around, Gabriella was standing there.

"This was all I could find," she said, holding up a sleeve of red plastic cups. "I guess it will have to do."

We made our way back out to the porch in silence, only to discover that Chloe had set everything up and had turned on the radio so that Top 40 hits were playing. She grinned upon seeing us.

"Let the games begin!"

The games began slowly. As with strip poker, people always start small. An earring, a shoe, a sweater. Ryan had already lost his belt and Chloe had lost both earrings and a shoe. Sharpay, however, never did anything small.

So when she was dealt a bad hand, she shrugged her shoulders, downed her drink, and pulled off her entire pink sundress in one fell swoop. She still had all of her jewelry and her shoes on, yet she had voluntarily taken off the one thing that provided her any coverage. She then sat back down, wearing only a magenta lace push up bra and a pair of matching panties. I worked hard to keep my gaze away from her, not wanting her to get the wrong idea.

Ryan shot her a look and she shrugged her shoulders. "What?" she said innocently. "I play to win."

The game proceeded as usual, with Zeke, Chad, and I all losing our shirts and drinking our fair share of tequila. Chloe had lost her dress sometime after a few hands, and Gabriella was down to her just her underwear and her tunic that hit mid-thigh. The only one who was still clothed (and therefore, sober) was Ryan. All he had lost was his belt.

"Seriously, male Evans," Chloe slurred. "What is your secret?"

Ryan smiled cryptically. "Oh, you know," he said with a shrug. "Practice."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Where did you learn?"

"My dad taught me," Ryan said, shuffling the cards before dealing them out. "Where'd you learn?"

"Internet."

"Ah."

Moments later, the next hand was dealt, and the only person with a lousy hand was Gabriella. I immediately felt worried. She had no clothes left. She'd have to take off the only thing covering her.

"Gabriella!" Chad let out a yell, hugging her around the legs drunkenly. "You lost! Strip!"

Covering herself with her arms, Gabriella laughed shyly. "Chad, calm down. Do I really have the worst cards or whatever?"

For all of her talents, Gabriella was a terrible poker player. The worst I had ever known. I loved that about her.

Laughing, Chad nodded. "Yes! So strip! Now!"

Gabriella bit her lip hesitantly and I felt my heart speed up for more than one reason. I suddenly wanted to get everyone to leave, tell Gabriella she didn't have to, and make all of this go away. Go back to when we were sixteen and eighteen and things were simple. Easy.

Instead, I kept quiet, and watched as she took a drink from her cup, before grabbing the ends of her shirt and pulling it over her head slowly. After she had peeled it off, she rolled it into a ball and set it down beside her. She sat there awkwardly, feeling everyone's eyes on her. I felt sick. This couldn't be good for her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryan look at her figure appreciatively and I felt a flicker of jealousy run through me. No one was supposed to look at Gabriella like that. Especially not Ryan Evans. Especially anyone who was not me.

But she was stunning. She was so tiny; I knew that if I wanted, I could still wrap my hands around her waist and my fingers would touch. Her breasts were small, but perfect and I knew that they'd be a perfect handful. Her stomach was flat and toned from her love of running. She was thinner than I remembered, but not as bad as I had feared. I could probably still count her ribs, but they did not stick out the way they once did.

This brought me a strange comfort. She wasn't as sick as I had thought.

Or at least, I hoped so.

"Damn," Sharpay mumbled, "eat a sandwich."

I whirled over to her, my mind not comprehending what she had just said. "What did you say?"

Sharpay looked up at me, alarmed, smiling sweetly. "What, Troy? I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did," I said, feeling the anger bubble up in me. "I heard you."

"Troy," Sharpay said slowly, calmly, "I—"

"Just told Gabriella to eat a sandwich," Chad hissed. "You _bitch_."

Chloe looked at Sharpay, mouth agape. "What? Are you serious?"

Gabriella picked up her shirt, pulling it over her body quickly. "Guys—"

"Sharpay," I began, "I think it's time for you to go. I—"

"That's it!" I looked over and saw Chloe yanking on her dress, before standing up and launching herself at Sharpay. "Bitch, you are going down! You stupid whore!"

With that, Chloe collided with Sharpay and a loud yelp was heard. For a moment, we were all completely motionless. Chloe and Sharpay rolled around on the floor, yelling, shrieking, hitting and pulling each other's hair, but we did nothing. Then suddenly, we all sprang into motion. Chad and Zeke pried Chloe off of Sharpay and Gabriella and I grabbed the alcohol. Chloe yanked on Sharpay's hair one more time, and Sharpay let out another shriek.

As Chloe was pulled away from her, I noticed she had a thick strand of blonde hair in her hand. She had ripped out one of Sharpay's extensions.

"Okay!" Gabriella shouted. "Everybody out! Time to go home!"

Zeke thew Chloe over his shoulder while she burst into tears, simultaneously apologizing to Gabriella and screaming at Sharpay, waving her extension like a victory flag. Sharpay pulled on her clothes and yelled at about suing and seeing to it that Chloe lost her job, while Ryan shook his head and said nothing of the sort would happen.

"I'm sorry, Gabriella," he said, looking at her with soft eyes. "I don't think she has a filter."

Gabriella smiled awkwardly, shrugging. "It's okay," she said, adjusting the bottle of tequila in her hands. "No damage done."

With that, our friends departed in opposite directions, and it was just Gabriella and I.

"Well," Gabriella said, "that was interesting."

Turning swiftly on her heel, she walked inside quickly and I jumped, running to catch up with her.

"Gabriella!" I said, "I am so, so sorry!" I grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "I didn't know that she—"

"Troy," Gabriella said softly, and I looked up and met her eyes. They were wide and hurt, but not angry. She swallowed. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," I shook my head. "She's such a bitch. She didn't need to say anything."

Gabriella nodded, folding her arms. "Does she..." she swallowed again. "Does she know about me?"

I blinked, unsure of what she meant. "Does she know what?"

"That I have an eating disorder? That I'm anorexic?" she looked up at me with big eyes and I wanted to pull her in my arms and hug her. It took so much for her to say that, to label her illness. It had taken four months of treatment for her to get to a place where she was even accepting of the situation. To hear her say the words a year later nearly knocked me off my feet.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "I...I think so," I said quietly. "She knew you were in treatment, so..."

"Oh," Gabriella said, nodding. "Well. Then she's a bigger bitch than I thought."

I felt my heart jump in my throat. "I know. I won't invite her around her anymore. I don't know what's gotten into her this summer. She's..."

"A bitch," Gabriella supplied.

"Yeah."

Gabriella let out another sigh. "Whatever. She can fuck off. I'm going to bed."

She turned on her heel before making her way upstairs. On the third step, however, she turned around to me. "You deserve better than Sharpay Evans for a friend, Troy."

And then she went upstairs.

* * *

><p>Later that night, I found myself in a restless sleep. The alcohol was wearing off now; I had the pleasure of sobering up quickly, but that usually just meant I also felt hungover faster. Thoughts about Gabriella and Sharpay and the way Ryan had looked at her, the jealousy that had bubbled up my spine, were keeping me up. I kept hearing Chloe's loud voice and Zeke and Chad's laughter. I was disoriented, hungover, exhausted, and completely unable to sleep.<p>

Not to mention, the overcast day had turned into a thundering, pounding rain. It banged on the windows, on the roof, and on the sides of the house. Usually I'd find it calming. Tonight I just found it aggravating.

"Troy!" I heard a voice whisper. "Troy!"

I rolled over and looked across my room over to the doorway. Helen was standing there, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding her teddy bear. She looked scared and wide eyed.

"Lenny," I said, frowning, sitting up. "What's wrong?"

She stepped into the room and hugged her bear to her chest. "I'm scared. The storm is too loud."

Patting the spot next to me, I motioned for her to come over. Helen practically ran to the bed, crashing on top of it. "Aw, Len, it's okay," I said, pulling her tiny body into a hug. "It's just angels bowling."

"They're being too loud," Helen shook her head, burying her face in my shoulder. "It's scary, Troy."

I held her tighter, thinking of all of the things that were scary as a child. All of the regular fears, such as the dark and monsters and thunder. And all of the things that children shouldn't know about.

"It's okay, Len," I said, drawing back from her. "Did you wanna sleep here tonight?"

She nodded quickly before burying herself in the blankets. I laid back down beside her.

"Silly angels," she mumbled softly, "being so noisy!"

I laughed. "You're right!" I said, pretending to sound annoyed. "So noisy! People are trying to sleep!"

"Yes!" she said, pouting. "They are keeping people awake. I think Gabi is scared, too."

I frowned, confused. "Why do you think Gabi is scared, Len?"

Yawning, she burrowed herself into the pillow, resting her head next to mine. "I heard her crying when I walked by her room."

I swallowed, closing my eyes and wishing that it was tomorrow. Or better yet, yesterday, and that none of this had happened. "Did you talk to her?"

Helen shook her head. "No, it was too scary in the hall and I wanted to talk to you." Yawning once more, she closed her eyes before sleepily saying. "I like it here, Troy. Can we stay here forever?"

I smiled. "No, Len. You start school in the fall! And Gabriella and I have to go back to school, and mom and dad, and Ed and Maria have to go back to work."

"Oh," Helen pouted again. "But we'll all come back next summer, right?"

I thought of the bottle of pills hidden in the back of the cabinet in the kitchen and the ache in my chest before scooting closer to my sister. "Yeah, Len," I said, "we'll all come back next summer."

* * *

><p><strong>Firstly, I want to pimp out a collaboration fic I am doing with my dear friend HPIncognito247! The fic is entitled 'The Tragic Results of a Double Life' and is up now. I'm really excited about it, so if you could check it out, that would be awesome! :) The link to our profile is on my profile.<strong>

**Secondly, I am so sorry that this one took so long! I had fully intended to take a break after chapter five to do more plotting of the fic and other things, and then the days just dragged on, and before you know it, it's been nearly two weeks since I last posted! I promise though that the next one will not take that long! We will be back to our regularly scheduled program.**

**Thanks so much for the support last chapter! I love how many of you Googled Benazepril! But I'm not gonna let you know what's up that easily. ;)**

**As usual, thanks to the betas, and tracks at my Livejournal!**


	7. And Summer, It Begs

**I Love You More Than French Fries**

Chapter 7: And Summer, It Begs

"_And that one thing you want, well it's driving you mad_."

- Darlin' Don't by Stephen Fretwell

* * *

><p>There were always certain things I wanted to change. My eye color for one; it was muddy, too dark, and too boring. Brown eyes were the most boring thing in the world to me. I wanted bright vibrant eyes like crystal green or soft blue, but instead I was stuck with muddy brown. Whenever I would voice this opinion, most people would scoff and shake their heads.<p>

Troy, however, took personal offense.

"Your eyes aren't just brown, Gabi," he'd say with a frown. "They are this crazy liquid-y gold-y brown colour. Like amber. Your eyes are gorgeous." Then he'd bow his head all sheepishly and smile. "I love your eyes."

This sometimes made me love them, too.

The problem is that you can sort of change your eye color by using contacts, but not really. You're kind of stuck with them, whether you like them or not. It's not like dying the hair on your head or putting on a different shade of lipstick. It's not an easy change. But in the grand scheme of things, that was one of the few things you couldn't change. You could change everything about yourself, especially physically.

I knew this well.

Like all things, it started off small. I wanted to look good in a bikini. My life was for summer, it was the very centre of everything I was, so naturally, bikinis and bathing suits and tan lines were things that were important to me. I wasn't at all necessarily proud of it, but it was a guilty pleasure. And now that Troy was suddenly so cute and we were romantically involved, I was definitely a little bit concerned about what he would think of the bits of baby fat that were lingering on my torso and thighs. I lived in a bikini some weeks, with him by my side, and he definitely had his share of female attention. I was constantly surrounded by girls who were thinner, smaller, and tinier than myself, Sharpay included, who were always parading themselves in front of him. While I knew deep down they were no real competition, I was still always just the slightest bit worried. So I figured I would lose a little bit of weight and get rid of that worry all together.

Only of course, like all small things, it got big, and it got worse. I was by no means ever really fat or overweight, at least not by the clinical definition, but in my eyes I might as well have been a whale. Tiny slivers of baby fat were humongous rolls. I shuddered at the sight of myself, but at the same time, was obsessed with it. Obsessed with picking apart and trying to find pieces I could change and fix. Things to make myself look better.

It started off with eating smaller meals, then cutting out snacks, then cutting out meals. It was hard work, but it became second nature. Distract people so they don't notice that you aren't eating, talk about food like you enjoyed it and that it was your best friend, say I had eaten a big lunch. In the everyday hustle and bustle, it's so easy to get away with things like this. And for a long time, almost a year and a half, I was able to do it. My mom worried, saying that maybe I was too stressed with school and had lost a little bit too much weight. My father just tried to encourage me to eat bigger meals to balance this out. But it was still something that I was able to hide, something that I was able to hide well.

That was until I saw Troy.

He knew at once. I didn't even have to mention food or stress or use any of my excuses, my cleverly devised plans. Troy took one look at me and knew that I had been starving myself in the name of perfection.

It was the middle of March, a good couple of months before we were set to go to the summer house, and Troy had come down for a visit. I hadn't seen him since Valentine's Day the month prior and I was looking forward to seeing him. I was worried, though, about the prospect of our dates; Troy enjoyed taking me out to fancy places to eat, and it would be difficult to get out of it. I had decided that I was simply going to say I wasn't feeling very well and that we would stay in for the night.

He had walked into my bedroom and looked at me sitting on the bed, the smile on his face quickly slipping off. "Gabi," he said, rushing over to me. "Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?"

I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'm not feeling too well, babe," I sighed, leaning into him, breathing in his scent. "Do you mind if we stay in? I missed you."

He said he missed me too and kissed my hair, and we stayed in that night. And the night after that. I noticed that Troy began to watch me more carefully, and by the end of his visit, I was convinced that he knew something was up.

And he did.

Just a mere three weeks before we were supposed to go to the summer house, Troy broke down in my bedroom and said he knew I was sick, that I had developed an eating disorder, and he begged me to get help. So I did.

He promised that he would be there waiting for me when I got out and that he wanted me to go and get healthy because he loved me. And I believed him, because not only was Troy my boyfriend, but he was my best friend.

Friendship is supposed to be stronger than romantic love. You go into that kind of love knowing their could be an end, knowing that it might not work out, might not be forever. But friendship is supposed to be eternal.

Friendship was good times and bad times, for whatever, whenever. Friendship was supposed to fill in the cracks that romantic love would create. Friendship was supposed to be the blanket that kept you warm when there was no other source of heat left in the world.

And the best thing about Troy and I was that we had that romantic love. We had the can't eat, can't sleep, can't breathe without thinking about each other kind of love. The one that everyone says is special, the kind that is supposed to last a lifetime. The kind of love people would die for and wish for. I knew my soul matched his; that my entire being was created to be with him. It was the kind of love that was so unlikely to deteriorate, I never thought I'd be without it once it started.

But we also had that friendship. We had the be there at two in the morning for whatever the reason kind of friendship. The kind of friendship where it transcended friendship; that saying we were best friends simply wasn't enough. We had the best of both worlds. We had the love and we had the friendship.

We were indestructible.

So I knew that after treatment, after days of being alone and waiting and wanting to see Troy, I would, and we would be better and stronger than ever. That he would be there, exactly the same, and waiting for me, because we had everything. We were it.

So when I got out and he was different, colder, changed, and things quickly fell apart, no one was more shocked than me.

It felt like I was holding a beaded necklace and it snapped, and no matter what I did, my hands weren't small enough to hold all of the pearls, and they slipped away from me.

That was what losing him felt like.

* * *

><p>I was carrying the kind of worry with me that was completely disabling. The kind that lurks up on any given moment, the kind that isn't just in the back of your mind; but is settled deep in your stomach, seated on the edge of every thought. The kind that makes your heart beat a little bit faster and your palms sweat. The fear of the known and the unknown combined all together to transform you into one complete and total nervous wreck.<p>

I thought I was going to die because of it.

I was exaggerating, of course, but from the moment I had discovered the pill bottle in the kitchen and watched as Troy deposited two, I was full of worry. What were they for, why were they there, and why was Troy taking them? I had considered asking my parents, Carmen, or his parents; just anyone for some sort of a clue, but had decided against it. Firstly, I didn't know a reason, which led me to think other parties, such as my parents, or Carmen, may not know either, and the last thing I wanted to do was bring another layer of drama amongst our family members on this summer that was already so strained and tension filled. Secondly, I still didn't know exactly what the pills were for; maybe they were relatively harmless like folic acid or something similar. I didn't want to make a mountain out of a molehill.

And so I didn't.

I instead went to the internet.

The worst possible thing you can do, I discovered, when someone is ill or you are concerned that someone is ill, is consult the internet. There are literally thousands of opinions and scenarios that pop up and all of them vary, all are different, cause no two cases of any disease are ever the same. So as I searched for what Benzapril was, and what it was used to cure, I found I was even farther from where I wanted to be. Which led to different searches and more worry, and at the end of it all, I was in tears and I just desperately, horribly wanted to find out what was wrong so I could hold on to Troy and never let go.

It was easier said than done.

Given that I had no idea what was going on or what was wrong with him, I decided to make it my mission of the summer. To answer those questions and maybe figure out some things with Troy along the way. The problem with this was that he and I were far from on good terms, and I had made it clear that I preferred it that way. Now I had to do a complete one-eighty and hope for the best. So far, it had been okay; I was pleasant, but not overly friendly, even though I wanted to be. More than anything, more than all of the confusion and worry surrounding my slight discovery, I wanted to be around Troy more. I still cared about him, still loved him in every way that you can love a person, and not talking to him was killing me.

I just didn't know how to go about starting over.

"I just think that you would look good as a blonde," Chloe was saying, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glanced over at her to see her sitting up, looking over the rim of her sunglasses to peer at Chad, who was staring back perplexed.

"Are you serious right now?" he asked, craning his head up from where he was sprawled across the sand. "You're seriously talking about me with blonde hair."

Chloe nodded, her own bright red ponytail bobbing. "I am! Think about it, Danforth, how much fun that would be! You would be more summery, lighter, you would get to find out if blondes actually have more fun!"

Chad raised his hand and shook his head. "I know the answer to that question already."

"How?" Chloe raised an eyebrow.

"I look to the Evans twins," he said with a smirk, "and they are both miserable. So really, I think I have all of the proof I need."

Shaking her head, Chloe pushed her sunglasses up her nose and laid back down. "Those bitches, I swear, if they ever come into the Crab Shack again, I am having their asses banned."

I peeped up from the magazine I was pretending to read. "Didn't you say that last time?"

Chloe pursed her lips. "Maybe."

"And how effective was that?"

"It wasn't."

"Ah."

Propping herself back up on her elbows, Chloe let out a long breath. "Chad's right about one thing, though, those Evans kids are miserable and bitter and want to make everyone else's life hell. I still can't get over how Sharpay treated you."

I saw Chad stiffen beside me, and I tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal. The truth was, aside from my quick conversation with Troy, I hadn't thought about Sharpay's comments during the poker game much at all, nevermind talked about it. It was a sensitive subject, my eating disorder, and I was fairly certain that while Chloe knew that it was something I dealt with, she obviously didn't know all of the details behind what exactly had happened last summer. Chad however, he knew. He knew maybe too much, and his automatic stiff reaction had me feeling nervous.

The three of us had gone down to the beach on Chloe and I's day off (Zeke had protested loudly at being left out) in an attempt to get some sun and clear our heads. For the most part, it seemed to be working for both Chad and Chloe, but for me, it was only serving as a temporary distraction from the mess that was running around in my head. Regardless, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the water was warm. It was the perfect beach day.

Talking about the Evans was admittedly tainting it a little bit.

"Sharpay Evans is a right bitch, you know that," I said, pretending to be nonchalant as I flipped a page of my magazine.

Chloe bit her lip. "What she said, though, Gabi...it was really out of line. I thought Troy was going to slaughter her."

At this, I looked up from my magazine and rolled over, facing her. I saw Chad look down, as if he didn't want to be questioned about the subject. As if he was closing himself off.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, my brow furrowed.

"Troy looked beyond angry!" Chloe said, "Not as angry as me, of course, but I assume that is because I had a lot of alcohol running through my veins, which allowed me to defend you, to fight back, to—"

"Rip out a chunk of her ratty weave?" Chad piped in helpfully.

Chloe laughed. "Yes! Exactly that! But no, Troy looked livid! Didn't he, Chad?"

I looked over at my best friend and saw him nod, almost reluctantly. "Yeah, he definitely didn't look happy. Which all things considered, kind of took me by surprise."

"What do you mean?" Chloe asked, frowning, and I glared at Chad.

"He just means that since Troy and I aren't speaking, that it surprised me that he seemed to care at all," I said quickly. "Right, Chad?"

Chad shrugged. "Yeah, that's it."

"Whatever," Chloe threw her hands up. "I don't know what you guys are talking about. But, either way, we have established that Troy was in fact, pissed off. Only the best part of the night was definitely the look on his face when Ryan Evans started checking you out."

This was even more new news to me than Troy being mad at Sharpay. Being mad at Sharpay was understandable, but having any reaction to another boy looking at me? That was another. And another boy looking at me at all? That was something completely and entirely out of left field.

The left field located on Mars.

I sat up quickly, laughing in confusion. "What are you running your mouth about now, Anderson?"

"Ryan! He was totally checking you out the minute you started pulling off clothes, and Troy looked like he was trying not to deck the guy!" Chloe explained. She reached over and grabbed my magazine, and began flipping through the pages. "I don't even know if it was a conscious decision or just something that he was used to after dating you for all of those years."

I shook my head. "Chloe, you're lying. Ryan wasn't checking me out."

"Yes," Chloe insisted. "He was. Wasn't he, Chad?"

Chad shrugged his shoulders. "Why the fuck would I know or pay attention to that kind of shit?"

The pair began to bicker back and forth as I mulled over the information. There was no way Ryan would have checked me out. He knew about what had happened last summer, about my struggles with eating. There was no way someone like him, primed and perfect, would take interest in someone like me, someone who was so blemished and dirty. It just didn't make sense.

But it would explain the way he randomly approached me at the bonfire. Or would it? What would that mean, I thought, if he was checking me out? If he was interested in me. I didn't know what it was like to have boys who were not Troy like me. I didn't know the first thing about really dating, about getting to know someone from scratch. I had always known Troy. I knew him like the back of my hand.

And just like that, all thoughts of Ryan and his impending (but most likely false) affections left me, and I was reminded me of the pill bottle in the kitchen cabinet. Of Troy taking them. Of what they could possibly mean.

And I couldn't keep it inside anymore.

"You guys," I said, sitting up. "Something isn't right."

Chad and Chloe exchanged a look before glancing over at me, and I filled them in on the progression of the last few days. Of how I had found the pill bottle in the kitchen, how Troy hid it there, and how I was filled with worry and stress over the matter. How I had no idea what was going on.

"Whoa," Chloe said, leaning back. "That's...heavy."

Chad was white as a ghost, digesting the information slowly. After all, Troy was at once point, just as close to Chad as he was to me. Their scarred friendship was still something that Chad would carry with him always.

"So, um," Chad swallowed. "What did you say the pills were?"

"Benazepril," I answered, dragging a hand through my hair. "I did a quick Google search on them, but their use is rather...vast."

Chloe pulled her knees to her chest. "What was the most common result, though?"

I bit my lip. "Heart issues, mainly," I began, "used to treat high blood pressure and heart failure. But they can also be used for kidney failure and heart disease in dogs and other animals. So really...I don't know."

Chad folded his hands together. "And you saw him take them?"

"Sort of," I said. "He just took two from the bottle and a glass of water with him, and left. I never actually saw him take them."

"So they could be for someone else, then," Chloe said.

I shrugged. "I guess so, but I don't think his parents would hide their medication like that. It was strange, the placement of it, and the fact that he took them. If his parents were sick or Helen, he wouldn't need to touch them at all. Plus it would explain why he's been so...not himself. But I don't really know. And I need to know."

Chad looked up at me and our eyes met. "Gabi..." he began.

"I need to know, Chad," I said, my throat feeling tight. "I need to know if it has something to do with last summer. If whatever those pills are caused him to be so...so cruel. But more than that, I need to know if he's okay. I can't..." I swallowed. "I can't bear for him to not be okay."

There was a moment of silence between us, my confession lingering in the air, before Chloe cleared her throat.

"Okay. So we'll help you," she said, standing up.

I looked up at her. "What?"

"This is obviously somewhat of a mystery, and it's not something you can do on your own, Gabi," she said seriously. "So we will help you get to the bottom of this. Right, Chad?"

Chad nodded. "Yeah. We'll help you snoop, spy, and prod."

Smiling softly, Chloe continued. "Zeke, too. This has been under wraps for a reason, Gabi. And we will help you find it out."

Feeling pleased to at least have someone to talk to about it, nevermind help, I smiled. Even though smiling was the last thing I felt like doing.

* * *

><p>I came home that day to what seemed to be the aftermath of a tornado.<p>

A tornado by the name of Carmen.

My sister was meticulous at best and obsessive compulsive at worst. Everything needed to be organized, everything needed to be planned, and everything needed to be arranged in neat little lines or she'd have a freak out of Godzilla like proportions. It was a trait of hers that made living with her almost unbearable at times; I'd come home to find her alphabetizing the DVD shelf in our rec room for fun cause she was bored. This would be fine, if she didn't get stressed out as she did it, frustrated that her system wasn't working out or that the 'S' section of our movies was too big to fit on just one level of the shelf, throwing everything off.

A lot of the time, it seemed that being Carmen would be exhausting, and I was thankful that I wasn't.

Which is why when I came into the kitchen after returning from the beach, I was both surprised and not at all surprised to see the whole thing turned upside down. It made sense considering it was Carmen that had made the mess, but it made no sense considering this was the summer house, and people didn't do this to the summer house. But that was the result of many a summer spent here without Carmen's company, I suppose.

"What are you doing?" I asked, stepping into the room carefully. If I said it quietly enough, there would be a chance she wouldn't hear me, and I could still escape if need be.

My sister poked her head up from the pantry where she was currently labeling jars of fruit. "Gabriella!" she said, looking up at me frantically. "What are you doing home so early!"

I glanced at the clock. "It's already after four, Car," I said, furrowing my brow. "This is hardly early by any stretch of the means. It's not like I am staggering in at four in the morning every night or something."

"What!" Carmen bolted up and looked at the clock on the wall with wide eyes. "It's already four o'clock? How can that be? I still have to reorganize the medicine cabinets and go through the old books and boardgames in the living room and get rid of what we don't need! Plus the kitchen is a total disaster; are you aware that no one in this house has labeled anything? How are we supposed to know what anything is?"

I blinked at her. "Use our eyes?"

Carmen scowled. "Oh, haha, you're so clever, Gabriella. You enjoy using your eyes when you accidentally confuse a jar of beets for cherries! They look the same, you know!"

"Actually," I began, removing a bin filled with snack foods—popcorn, potato chips, and pretzels—from one of the kitchen chairs and taking a seat. "It kind of depends on what kind of cherries they are. If they are machino cherries, then the juice would be bright red as opposed to that of a beet, which is more of a purple. But if you used regular cherries, then yeah, chances are they'd get mixed up."

Shooting me another look, my sister got back down on her knees and began labeling a jar of peaches. "Oh, wow, thanks for the trivia lesson, Professor Montez! I really needed that right now, not like I have a million things to do without you distracting me!"

I leaned over the back of the chair. "Glad I could be of service!" I said with a grin and my sister glared at me once more. "Why are you freaking out so much anyway? Is there nothing good on TV? We did install a satellite last year; I'm sure you can find something interesting on Pay Per View."

Carmen sat down, letting out a heavy sigh as she ran a hand through her long hair. "Alex is coming tomorrow and time totally got ahead of me. I guess I just wasn't paying attention to how soon he was arriving, and before you know it, bam!" she smacked the ground beside her, "He's set to drive up tomorrow and we have boardgames in the living room from since before you were born!"

Frowning, I bit my lip. "I'm not sure why that is a big deal."

"How is it not a big deal?" Carmen spit, her eyes turning into slits. "It's a huge deal! Alex is going to think we live in squalor! That we are a bunch of hoarders who never throw anything out! And when he gets a look at this kitchen, oh my god, he is going to have a heart attack! Do you want my fiancee to have a heart attack, Gabriella? Cause that is what's going to happen if you let him see this kitchen in the state it is in!"

At this, I rolled my eyes. Alex may also be meticulous, and he may be incredibly smart (and slightly nerdy) but he was hardly the type to be judgmental because of the state of someone's kitchen. In fact, he was actually incredibly laid back for someone who had more degrees than he knew what to do with and was up to his elbows in impressive research. He was actually kind of messy and completely unorganized. I suppose he was so organized and systematic in most areas of his life and studies, that he had decided to forgo some of the more frustrating things in favor of not burning out often.

This is where he and Carmen balanced each other out. She was a complete control freak and he sometimes liked having someone to tell him that his shirt was buttoned incorrectly or where to file his tax returns. And in turn, he made sure that she didn't dedicate all of her time to learning new ways to manage file cabinets.

It was a good relationship and I was happy that my sister had found such a good match.

"Carmen, chill," I said slowly, trying to calm my sister out of her state of near hysteria. "You know that Alex isn't going to care what the kitchen looks like. You're going to care."

"Of course I am going to care!" Carmen said, placing all of the jars back on the shelf now, in order of what appeared to be size. "I don't want him to think we live in squalor!"

I let out a groan. There was little hope of rationalizing with her now. "Carmen, look at this house. It's huge. Everyone has their own bedroom. I doubt he's going to think we live in squalor."

"You never know!"

"Okay, worry about nothing," I said, bringing my knee up on the chair and resting my chin on it. I glanced over at the cabinet, thinking about the bottle of pills that were hidden inside of it and wondered if Carmen had seen them on her cleaning journey. If she was as worried as I was about it.

I thought about Troy again, and how desperately I wanted to make amends but had no idea how to go about it. I cleared my throat. "Hey, Car?"

My sister, for all of her oddities, was actually a good person to get advice from, and I was learning that summer that as we became closer, that she was definitely a good confidant. I didn't want to tell her about the pills, that was something I wanted to figure out on my own, but I wanted to ask her if starting over with Troy wasn't something I should even consider.

"What?" she snapped, seemingly organizing the jars by colour now.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Carmen seemed to slow down, some of her attention shifting over to me. "About what?"

"About Troy."

She stopped completely and then I knew I had her full attention. She turned over to me, placing her hands in her lap. "Yeah, sure. Shoot."

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I let out a breath. "I've been doing some thinking lately and I...I'm not sure if I want things to stay like they are between us."

Carmen raised an eyebrow. "Okay, and what would that be? You guys aren't talking, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I told him that we need to stay away from each other this summer."

"Okay..." Carmen trailed off. "And what don't you like about this?"

"I..." I bit my lip. "I miss him, mostly. I want to start over. Do you think he and I could start over?"

Carmen let out a heavy sigh, and turned back around to face the cabinet. "Gabriella..."

"I just mean, I don't want to be romantically involved; we tried that and it didn't work, but I just think that maybe it would be nice if we could be...friends."

"Some people can't just be friends, Gabriella."

"I know that," I said, and I really did.

"Do you?" Carmen turned to look at me. "Gabi, you can't keep doing this."

I furrowed my brows and looked at her, confused. "Doing what?"

Carmen waved her hand in the air. "This! Going back and forth. Telling Troy to get out of your life and then wanting to drag him back in. You need to make up your mind. Do I think you and Troy could move on? Yes, of course I do. I think you could put the past behind you and try to rebuild your friendship. Do I think it will ever be the same? No, I don't, not when there's all this history behind you, but I think you are capable of having something different with him, and I imagine it could be a good something, if you'd let it."

I stared at her blankly, waiting for her to continue, hearing the words on the tip of her tongue. "But...?"

"But," Carmen began, "I don't think this back and forth is healthy, Gabriella, nor is it fair. Not to him, and especially not to you."

Placing her head in her hands, Carmen took a deep breath. "Last summer, Gabriella, was the worst summer I have ever experienced, that you have ever experienced. It was hell. And when things finally started to clear up, when things finally started to get better...he wasn't there. He made everything worse. No matter his motives, no matter why he did it, and no matter how much I am able to let it go and befriend him every once in a while, he still hurt you more than anyone has hurt you ever."

"You tried to get him to apologize to me, though," I said, bewildered, "you made him buy me flowers."

"I did," Carmen said slowly, "because I thought it was what you wanted. What he wanted. And I learned quickly that those things aren't exactly the same right now."

"What aren't?"

"What you want," Carmen said, "and what he wants. And also what you both need. The more time I see you two go back and forth, the more it becomes clear that the pair of you don't know what you're doing or what you want. So if you want to make up with him, Gabi, if you want to start over and try again, be sure it's what you really want. Because at the end of the day, you are still my sister, and you still mean the world to me, and I refuse to see you go through that all over again. And on top of that, I still love him like he was my brother, and I don't want him to be hurt either. And he has agreed to leave you alone, so think long and hard about whether or not this is what you want."

"It is," I said. "It is."

Carmen shook her head, looking sadly at the jars in front of her. "Alex is going to hate this kitchen. He's going to hate this house. Everything in it is all wrong."

* * *

><p>Later that night, I dragged myself off the couch and forced myself to go for a run. It wasn't something I enjoyed; it was something I had to do. I hated thinking about the fat on my body expanding and settling on top of my muscles and bones. I hated thinking about the food in my stomach metabolizing to sugar and to fat and to all of the bad things I was warned about.<p>

So I ran.

Running became therapeutic for me. It allowed me to feel athletic and that I worked hard, but it wasn't the kind of exercise that people would refuse to let me partake in. There were a lot of things I wasn't allowed to do since treatment, a lot of things I wasn't allowed to eat, but running was allowed. I learned to love the feel of the pavement beneath my feet; the heavy thump, thump, thump of my sneakers hitting the ground. The sharp intakes of my breath as I panted my way up hill.

As it was, the only thing better than running was running on the beach. The sand made it harder to have any resistance, any grip, so it was more challenging than running on cement. Plus the ocean-breeze and soft, cool air made the experience even better. I loved it and I think that was one of the things I was enjoying most about the summer; that I got to wake up every morning and run along the beach, no interruptions, no one to bother me. Just me and the beach.

I was mulling over my conversation with Carmen from earlier in the day. Were things really that easy when it came to moving on? Did I really just pack up all of my feelings from before and teach myself that they couldn't be forgotten, or at the very least, manageable? Was starting over with Troy that simple?

It didn't seem like it could be. Every encounter we had had up until a few days prior had been awful with me screaming at him to leave me alone forever. How could I possibly reverse that? How could I explain that? Oh, yeah, all of that stuff I said about us not communicating, I totally don't mean that anymore. It has nothing to do with me thinking you're really ill and not wanting to lose you all over again.

Nothing at all.

Which brought on another dilemma. How did I even go about explaining this? Troy knew me; he knew me well, so there was no way he'd just think I'd have a change of heart and suddenly want to start over. Would he? No, he'd see right through that. And more than all of this, would he even want to start over, too? Knowing that this time, I had no intention of being romantically involved because I wanted to protect my own heart. Knowing that I wanted to try just being friends.

Was that even possible, just being friends with Troy? There was far too much to think of and as I ran down the beach, my skin hot and sweaty, I tried to make a situation that was so complicated feel a little less heavy.

It was proving to be impossible.

A trickle of sweat ran down the side of my face and I brought my hand up to brush it away. God, it was hot out. It felt hotter than usual, even though the heat had been less than forgiving so far this summer. Still, I carried on down the beach, step by step, trying to keep my feet moving and my breath even, until I felt something collide into me from behind and send me tumbling down on the ground.

"Fuck!" I shouted, feeling my knees hit the sand hard as I scrambled up to my hands to get some bearing. "Goddamnit, that hurt."

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" I heard a voice yell as I sat up, brushing the sand from my body, noting the throb in my knee and that my hand was bleeding slightly. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going!"

"You were behind me!" I began hotly, unsure of why I was reacting so angrily. It must have been the weather, or that my thoughts were just interrupted, but I found myself feeling very annoyed. Plus now I was in pain, and really that was the last thing I wanted to deal with. "How could you not see me?"

The person held a hand out to me. "I'm sorry, I just wasn't paying attention, I—" the voice cut off. "Gabriella?"

At this, I looked up, and was met with a pair of bright blue eyes. I stiffened.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," he said, grabbing onto my arm and pulling me up. "Oh, geez, now I feel really bad. You're bleeding!"

I shook my head, feeling calmer once I realized who it was. "No, Ryan, it's okay," I said, smiling slightly at the blonde in front of me. "It's no big deal. I wasn't exactly paying attention either."

Ryan smiled crookedly at me, and I noted that he was actually rather good looking. "Yeah, but I still bashed into you. Is your hand okay? Do you want to go get it bandaged up? My house isn't too far from here."

Again, I shook my head, wiping the now dried blood on my shorts. "No, it's really okay. Just a scrape. I'm sorry I overreacted," I said bashfully. "I was just deep in thought. You startled me."

"Ah," Ryan said, nodding. "I know how that is." He looked me over and folded his arms over his chest. "I didn't know you ran?"

"Yep," I said with a smile. "Everyday. I didn't know you ran, either."

He grinned. "You bet. Everyday. Looks like we have something in common."

I laughed, feeling slightly awkward, but not completely uncomfortable. "I guess we do then."

A beat passed between us and I was just about to bid him goodbye and continue on my run when he ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. "Look, Gabriella, I'm really sorry about the other night."

I tensed and opened my mouth to retort, to inform him that it was no big deal, but his shook his head, cutting me off. "My sister had no right to say what she said to you. She doesn't necessarily mean to be the way she is. She just...is."

"Really, Ryan," I said, swallowing at the memory. I didn't want to relive it over and over again. "It's not a big deal."

Ryan shook his head. "No, it is. My sister is a bitch. I don't want to make excuses for her, cause she really is, but just know that...she doesn't mean a lot of what she says, if any of it. She's just a really jealous, really insecure person."

I shifted my weight from one foot to another. This was always obvious; Sharpay's insecurity, her jealousy, her blatant need for attention. I didn't think that was justifiable cause for being a thorn in my side of all these years, though, but I decided not to voice that. "Yeah, I understand."

"Even if you don't, I appreciate you saying that," he said with a weak smile. "She's not the easiest person to live with or deal with, and her actions aren't something I am at all proud of, but...she's still my sister."

That I understood, thinking of Carmen. The bond between siblings was something that transcended between the good and the bad. "Really," I said with a wave of my hand, "it's not something I'm dwelling on, so don't worry about it."

This was true. I really wasn't thinking about Sharpay's words, in fact, I was working over time to block them from my mind.

"Good," Ryan said, his smile brighter this time. "Cause like I said, it was grossly insensitive and awful of her to say, especially since she knows what happened last summer."

At this, I flinched. Ryan bringing up last summer meant that he knew about last summer, and that was just one more person who was invited to the intimate details of the worst six months of my life. He seemed to pick up on this, because he was suddenly apologizing again.

"Oh, shit, I didn't mean to..." he trailed off and scratched the back of his neck. "Wow, I just can't win, can I?"

I laughed, feeling the tension ease. "I guess not. You've struck out several times this conversation, Evans."

Ryan laughed. He had a nice laugh. Then he shot me a smile and stepped a little closer. "Okay, so here is me stepping up to bat one more time."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? You really wanna do this again?"

"Yep," he said, folding his arms. "And I'm raising this stakes this time, too."

"Oh, big man," I said, letting out a low whistle. "What do you have up your sleeve?"

Ryan looked down, then back at me, before letting out a breath. "Okay, here goes. There's a carnival tomorrow night, down at the pier?" I nodded, remembering that Carmen had mentioned that she and Alex were going to take Helen as a favor to the Boltons. "Well, I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"

I almost choked on the air at this. I gaped at him, completely taken aback by his proposal. "You wanna go to the carnival with me?" I swallowed. "Like a date?"

"Well, that was the idea," Ryan said, before quickly adding, "but if you'd rather it just be platonic, then I'm down for that, too."

I paused, taking a moment to think things over. I hadn't been on a date in...over a year, at least, and I hadn't been on a first date in even longer. I had casually dated people in high school while pining over Troy who was so far away for so many months of the year, so I had definitely racked up a small amount of first (and only) dates. Yet after my first date with Troy (we down to the beach and he had packed a picnic lunch. It was the best first date in the world) three years ago, I hadn't had a single date that was without him. The thought was completely terrifying.

Go out with someone who wasn't Troy. Get romantically involved with someone who wasn't Troy. Was that even possible for me? Did I even have any idea how to go about doing that? Going out with someone else would mean attempting to let go. Trying to move on. Could I do that?

And more importantly, did I want to?

A friend once told me that every girl has the exact kind of love life she wanted. So if I wanted to have a nice, easy relationship with a good looking boy at the summer house, I could. I could date Ryan and it would be nice and there probably wouldn't be a lot of commitment given that he went to school in New York and I went to school in California.

But if I wanted, I could continue to have an up and down roller-coaster with Troy, and I wasn't sure if I really wanted to do that at all. What I wanted to do with Troy was figure out what was wrong with him and maybe start over. Become friends again and get at least a small piece of the friendship we once had back. But was that at all possible? It wasn't if I was holding on.

So I needed to let go. I needed to attempt to move on.

I kind of needed to go on this date with Ryan.

The silence that had followed had obviously made Ryan uncomfortable. "Look, if you don't want to, you don't have to!" His cheeks flushed slightly. "I just figured I'd give it a try since I've had a crush on you forever—"

I looked at him quickly, my ponytail slapping me in the face. "You've had a crush on me forever?"

Ryan sputtered something incoherently, his face flushing even darker. "Well, yeah, I mean, I used to tag along with Sharpay when she used to tag along with Troy, and you guys were glued at the hips, and you know, you were always together, so there wasn't much I could do about it and oh god, now I've really done it. Now it just seems like I am just making my move because you are on the market and I don't even know if you are totally comfortable dating yet, and if you don't want to go, you really, really don't—"

"Yes," I said, simply, and Ryan looked up at me.

"Pardon?"

"Yes," I repeated. "Yes, I would like to go to the carnival with you."

Ryan's face broke out in a grin and I found myself smiling back, almost excitedly. "Really?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Really."

"Great!" he said animatedly. "I'll um, pick you up at seven? Your house okay?"

I nodded once more. "Yeah, that sounds perfect. I'll see you then?"

"Yeah!" Ryan said, turning around to jog in the opposite direction. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gabriella!"

And with that he was gone, and I turned around and continued on my run like nothing had happened. But something had.

I was going on a date with Ryan Evans. I was trying to move on.

I continued down the beach, step by step, breath by breath. I enjoyed running but I wasn't sure if I loved it or not. It was something I did, something that I felt guilty if I didn't. I had to keep the fat off some way, and this was a healthy way. It was a therapeutic way. It was a sensible way. I did it because I should, because I had to. Not necessarily because I wanted to.

Because as I ran, I thought, and sometimes, I just needed an escape from my brain, one that running did not offer.

I thought of all of the things we make ourselves do; run, exercise, eat right, go to school, move on. And we do them not necessarily because we want to, but because we have to. It's what's expected of us. I wondered if it was always worth it.

Most times it seemed like it wasn't. It just seemed like more work.

* * *

><p>I AM SO SORRY. IT'S BEEN ALMOST A MONTH.<p>

Here is basically what happened: I didn't sleep well at all for a while, so I basically went to work and crashed and had no energy, and then I got really busy for a couple of weeks! Now my schedule is finally slowing down, though, so I will have more time to dedicate to writing.

And also if you couldn't tell, this chapter is more of a filler, setting up things for the future kind of chapter, so I was dragging my feet on writing it cause writing filler is boring. :( But the next couple of chapters are super, super fun, and I actually really love this chapter, so yay all around!

Thanks to Kirsten and Julina for kicking my ass like every single day on writing this thing, and thanks to all for supporting me! Tracks at my journal and I will try my hardest to have the next chapter up in a timely fashion!


	8. This Can't Just Be Summer Love

**I Love You More Than French Fries**

Chapter 8: This Can't Just Be Summer Love

"_But the codes and keys can protect you from pangs of jealousy." _

- Codes and Keys by Death Cab for Cutie

* * *

><p>In every story, in every situation, there is a bad guy and there is a good guy. There is never really a protagonist, because the situation should always be viewed from different points, from different views. In every situation you must get all sides of the story to get a good perspective on what really happened, you see. There is an antagonist, of course, because one side of the story could be from the person antagonizing.<p>

Sometimes, there is a hero; a person whose voice rings truer and purer than every other in the story. That is the person you ideally want to be, if you are involved in stories and situations at all. You want to be the one who makes everything all better. You want to be the one who tells those antagonizing, those suffering from the antagonist, that everything will be okay. That everything will be fine.

This is easier said than done.

In every situation in life, I don't think I have ever really been the hero. I have attempted, of course, tried to be the one to build everything back up when it falls apart, but I quickly learned that not only are such things sometimes impossible, but I was really, really terrible at it. I would get so far and it would seem like everything was getting back to normal, and something would happen, or something would fall out of place, and before I knew it, the situation came crashing down all around me.

In the situation with Gabriella, I tried to be the hero.

I ended up being worse than being just the antagonist. I was the villain.

A villain is something you never want to aspire to be. Ever. Even if it means that in the long run, what you are doing, that your acts of evil will be the result of a better, grander life for someone (or yourself, if you are extremely selfish, like I am) you should never do it. You should attempt at all costs to avoid it.

Which again, is easier said than done.

The problem with stories is that there is a start, a middle, and an end, and in the story of Gabriella and I, what happened last summer was most definitely in the middle. It was too far away from the beginning, and I had thought it was way, way too far away from the end.

Gabriella and I were in a long distance relationship for the better part of the year, and it pretty much sucked. There's no other word I can really give to explain that our relationship had to be reduced down to monthly visits that drained our bank accounts and lengthy phone calls that didn't help it either. It was difficult, I'm not going to pretend it wasn't. I'm not going to say that on days when class was awful and I missed home and I hated everything that I wanted nothing more than to see Gabriella and hold her and talk and just act like things were normal. Cause I did want those things, and distance didn't allow it. But distance wasn't the thing that broke us.

It was just the thing that made things harder.

As a result, I only saw Gabriella about once a month until our summer visits. But even then, even on those monthly visits, I knew something was wrong. I was her boyfriend; I was more physical with her than probably anyone else in her life. So when I would fling her over my shoulder and realize that she was lighter than before, I took note of it. When I was able to wrap my hands around her waistline and have my fingertips touch, it wasn't something I took lightly. And slowly it got worse; I began to be able to count her ribs, began to feel like if I handled her with anything but a soft touch, that something would crack or break.

Then she started covering up.

She'd wear sweatshirts even though we were in California and it was relatively warm, especially for a girl who grew up in a cold climate. She wouldn't want me to see her naked, which confused me since I had seen her naked many a times, and seen her in just a bathing suit or underwear even more times (we swam a lot in the summer, sometimes spontaneously, where no swimwear was to be found). She didn't want to go out for lunch or dinner, she didn't want to do anything that involved food. She didn't want to do anything that involved intimacy.

And that's when I realized she was sick.

What followed were arguably the worst days of my life (up till that point). Realizing she was sick and that she was doing it to herself? It was impossible for me to comprehend. Gabriella was never the slightest bit overweight; she was always petite and lean and thin; she had a killer figure and I was always a little bit confused as to how I had secured a girlfriend who was the total package; smart, funny, beautiful, we were great friends, and she had a smoking body.

But no matter what I said, my words weren't enough. In fact, I'm pretty sure near the end there, they began to make things worse. In the back of her mind, she knew I knew, that I was getting closer to discovering her secret and trying to make things better without directly making it a point that I was. We began to argue more; I'd say she looked pretty, ask her to take off a layer, and she'd snap, saying that I was lying and that she looked terrible and why did I have to make a big deal out of it? Fighting with Gabi was something I'd never really experienced at that point, so it killed me even more that she was here hurting herself, and that she was hurting because of me. And everyday I prayed that she'd snap out of it, that she'd wake up and be better.

Only it didn't work that way and she got worse, and it resulted in me breaking down and crying in her bedroom, begging her to get help. It wasn't that simple, of course; her parents ended up getting involved and there was a lot more crying and a lot more shouting from Gabriella, but in the end, she checked into a rehabilitation clinic. And I thought things were going to get better.

I try to avoid thinking of last summer for many reasons, but part of it was that I was so scared the whole time she was gone; I thought about whether or not she was doing better, whether or not she was making friends, if she was alone. If she was mad at me, if she missed me. I counted down the days until she got back on a big calender. I couldn't wait to see her. The summer house was no where near the great wonder that it was without her, and I just wanted her back in my life.

And as the weeks went by and her return date got closer, I felt myself growing more excited and more nervous to see her all at once.

Then about a week before she was due back, some results came back from the doctors office, ones from appointments that had been scattered over the course of the last month that I hadn't thought too much of, and my life changed all over again.

So like the great villain of the story that I was, I made things worse, and I put up walls and I can effectively say that when Gabriella returned from treatment last summer, I broke her heart.

I am not the hero in the story.

Never the hero. Always the villain.

And I wish it were different, especially since it seemed that a hero was about to ride in, and that was something I wasn't ready for.

* * *

><p>The heat of summer finally became tolerable after the first couple of weeks of July.<p>

It was always a shock to the system, the heat that was provided up at the summer house. Oddly enough, no matter how many months I spent up at the house, no matter how many years went by, I always found myself sweating bucks and sleeping without sheets or blankets the first couple of weeks. The air conditioner was ancient, which always confused me given that the house itself was far from cheap. As a result, it was often breaking down, and one year, Ed had decided we weren't even going to bother with it.

"It's summer!" he had said jovially as I watched him cover up the air conditioner. "We should be able to tough out the heat!"

Aside from seeing Gabriella in the skimpiest tank tops and shorts, it had been the worst summer of my life. I think I avoided being indoors at all costs, and on several occasions, had slept outside and also begged our parents to reconsider. However, Ed insisted, and of course, my dad took his side, and our mothers were to delighted with the thought of having a free summer ahead of them, that they didn't bother trying to fight them about it either. So the air conditioner stayed that way.

However, after those first couple of weeks, you could finally say you were starting to get used to it. That it wasn't as bad as it really seemed. This I firmly believed and learned from experience. Did that mean I didn't try to convince our parents to install a new air conditioner every summer? No, I certainly did, every passing year with more conviction than the year before. What it meant, though, was that I was okay with it when inevitably, our parents said no.

It helped that we were located right on the beach. Days were spent outdoors in the water, swimming and surfing and this summer was no different. I wasn't swimming as much, but I was surfing at any moment I could, if only to try to clear my head. Surfing allowed me to concentrate, to be physical, to lose myself in something other than my thoughts. It was keeping me sane.

That morning had been just like all of the others. I had gone out surfing to catch a few waves in an attempt to make sense of the mess running through my head. Of all of the drama that had happened with Sharpay and Gabriella and everything else. I went out onto the water for about an hour and spent more time wiping out than standing upright. Coupling that with a red welt across my chest, from where a rather strong wave had slapped against me mercilessly, and I was ready to call it quits.

As I was walking up the steps to of the dock back to the house, I shook out my hair, letting any extra water go flying in an attempt to prevent it from dripping inside. My parents were absolute sticklers about keeping things indoors dry and I didn't feel like getting a lecture this early in the morning.

"Hey!" a voice came, "Troy! You got me all wet!"

I glanced over and saw Gabriella laying on one of the deck chairs in a bikini, her magazine shielding her. I smirked inwardly at the innuendo, completely unable to stop myself.

"Oh really?" I said, feeling light. "That's what she said."

Or rather, you said, I added mentally. I shook the thought from my head.

Gabriella rolled her eyes and reached over, grabbing the t-shirt on the end of her chair and pulling it over her head. "Oh, haha," she said. "You're so brilliant and witty. Please, indulge me with more of your fantastic humor."

I quirked an eyebrow, wondering why she was being so jokey with me. Gabriella had definitely been warmer lately, but I had no idea why and no idea what was too far and what wasn't. Or her motivation behind being so nice.

"You would only be so lucky, Gabi," I said, and then froze. That was definitely flirting. I called her Gabi. This wasn't good.

She blinked at me twice and then looked down. "Um, hey, Troy," she said softly, "would that be okay, actually? If we could talk for a minute?"

I nodded, feeling completely confused as to what was going on. Gabriella stood up and I averted my eyes. Her legs were entirely too long and it was difficult to focus on anything else. She sat down on the step by my feet, patting the ground next to her.

"Sit," she said simply, and like a trained dog, I did.

A silence settled in between us and I let out a deep breath. I wanted to get something off my chest. Something that had been bothering me.

"I'm sorry about Sharpay," I said quickly. "About what she said."

At this, Gabriella stiffened. "No, Troy, it's okay," she said with a weak smile. "We already discussed this. It's no big deal."

"But it is, Gabi," I said. "I...she's a bitch. I don't know why I hang out with her."

Gabriella was silent. I glanced over at her from the corner of my eye, and she was picking at a piece of thread hanging off her shirt. "I don't know why you do either."

Another beat passed. I glanced down at my feet. "I am really sorry, though."

Gabriella shrugged. "Like I said, it's in the past. No harm, no foul. Besides, I...I wanted to say I'm sorry, too."

I turned to look at her and saw that she was still picking at the thread, her cheeks tinted pink. She looked nervous. "For what?"

She shrugged again. "Just for how things have been this summer. I haven't been the...easiest person to get along with."

"Gabriella," I shook my head, "No, I haven't been. I've been...I haven't been fair. At all." I looked back out at the scene in front of me, the steps that descended down to a path and a makeshift driveway. The area continued to a fence, and then led out to the beach and the stretch of water. It somehow seemed calming, the cool breeze. It was a good backdrop for such a serious conversation. "If anyone should be saying sorry, it's me."

She didn't say anything for a moment and I didn't know whether I wanted to run or grab her so she didn't leave. She cleared her throat. "Be that as it may be...I was...I was wondering if you'd like to start over."

My head snapped up and I looked over at her, meeting her gaze. Out of everything I imagined when she said she wanted to talk, I hadn't at all anticipated this, even with her warmer attitude. "S-Start over?"

She nodded, slowly, twisting her hands nervously. "Um, yeah. Like, as friends. I want to be friends again and...at least talk like we used to. I'm...I'm tired of this being a war."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I'm tired, too."

"So what do you say?" she said, smiling. "Can we start over?"

I paused, still not leaving her eyes. "I'm not sure how easy that is," I admitted, "but I'd like to try. I'd...I'd like that."

Her face lit up at my words and I felt my heart pound at the sight. "That's all I ask."

A comfortable silence finally settled in between us, but I found I didn't want her to be quiet. I wanted to hear her speak. I wanted to talk to her, about anything. About everything.

"Your birthday's coming up," I said, nudging her elbow with my own. "You're gonna be twenty."

Gabriella grinned brightly. "I know. I'm so excited. I won't be a teenager anymore!" I laughed at her response. She was genuinely the only person I knew who really enjoyed getting older. She always hated being young, especially given that I was older, and she always seemed to be wanting to race to the finish line and get to an age where age didn't matter. Not that our two year age difference was a big deal at all, but I think that coupled with the fact that she was the baby of the household made her want to grow up faster.

"It's weird, to think, you were just sixteen like, a week ago. And now here you are, and you're twenty." I said softly as I looked over at her, dragging my eyes over her long lashes and cheekbones, before trailing them over her lips. She was still so beautiful. "When all you wanted for your birthday was a puppy."

Gabriella let out a laugh. "Oh my god, every year I asked for a puppy. Every year!"

I grinned. "Your parents always said no."

"They didn't think I could take care of it," Gabriella said with a scoff. "But I totally could, and I definitely could now, seeing as I have my own place and pay my own bills."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're living on your own?"

She nodded. "Yeah, a small apartment in Palo Alto. It's got charm. I have a roommate, Maggie. She's really nice."

"That's great, Gabriella," I said sincerely. "Good for you."

She smiled. "Thanks! My, um, my mom said you were living on your own, too?"

I nodded. "Yeah, a place by school. It's not much, really tiny one bedroom, one bath, and I live on my own, but it's nice. I'm not home a whole lot, so I don't particularly feel lonely or need a roommate or extra space."

Gabriella grinned. "I think it's great that you can afford it all on your own, though! That's really impressive for someone at twenty one."

Despite myself, I blushed. "Thanks. It's really, really not much though. And they don't allow pets."

"Ah, mine does, surprisingly," she said with a sigh. "Another reason why mom and dad should fulfill my life long birthday wish and get me a dog."

"You still want a dog?" I asked, not even slightly surprised.

She nodded. "You bet! A furry companion to be my best friend? Most definitely."

I laughed. We had fallen so easily into conversation, just like no time had passed at all. Just like nothing had ever happened between us. Just like we were kids again. "God, I feel like we had this conversation hundreds of times as kids. Reasons why you wanted a dog. But look, in two days, you'll be twenty." I paused. "Time flies."

"Yeah," Gabriella said, looking back at me for a moment. She cleared her throat before breaking eye contact. "Time sure flies."

There was a pause between us then where I'm pretty sure the both of us were thinking of the same thing. Thinking back to when things were simple; when everything seemed easy and effortless and real and pure. When we knew exactly what we want and we knew exactly how to be happy, and that we found the key to both of those things in each other. I stared off to the water, thinking the days when all I needed, all I wanted, was just to talk to her. That hadn't changed.

What had changed, however, was all of the obstacles that were preventing it. Her disorder, the states between us, the months before and after the summer season. The fact that I didn't know how to handle everything and was the ultimate fuck up. The things she didn't know about that were making everything impossible.

I wondered as I felt her inch closer to me, if it would make a difference. If telling her would really change things, especially now when so much time had passed between us. When so many things had happened between now and then. Maybe if I had told her last summer, maybe things would be different.

But then again, maybe they wouldn't be at all.

Either way, what was done was done, and now it wouldn't made any difference at all. Now it was just another check on the list of things I had done wrong. List of things I wish I had handled better, even if it was one of the hardest things I had ever dealt with. Not that I had. Not really.

Shaking my head, I focused back on the moment at hand, trying to erase the memories of summers before this. "Are you doing anything special?" I asked, kicking at the sand beneath us. "For your birthday, I mean."

Gabriella shrugged. "Sort of. I don't know, really. Mom and Lucille want to have a bit of a family celebration here at the house, with a cake and stuff. She said I could invite some friends."

I nodded. "Oh. That sounds fun." I wondered if she would want me there.

She cleared her throat again. "I, um," she let out a nervous giggle, "are you going to be there? I mean, it is a family and friends thing, and you are family, and a friend, so—"

"Of course!" I said quickly, cutting her off. "Of course I'll be there. I'd, um, I'd love to come. It'll be fun."

Gabriella's face split into a grin. "Really? That's, um, that's awesome! Thank you!" She clasped her hands together, like a young child would, in excitement and beamed at me. "Chloe, Chad, and Zeke are going to come, of course, and I was thinking of inviting Ryan, too, so having you there is just going to make things even better."

I smiled at her, feeling warm at how excited she was. "Well, I doubt I'll be that much fun, but I'm glad you asked me." I paused, something she said registering with me. "You're inviting Ryan and Sharpay?"

At this, Gabriella froze, before she bit her lip. "Um, no, not Sharpay. Just Ryan."

I blinked, even more confused. It made sense that she wasn't inviting Sharpay; aside from the fact that the two didn't get along, Sharpay had crossed the line at the poker game a few days earlier. I hadn't spoken to her as a result, still too angry at her for the way she had treated someone who meant a lot to me. More than that, that she had treated anybody that way and thought it was acceptable. I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do about it, mostly because not only was I not ready to forgive her, but I didn't want to. I was exhausted; tired of Sharpay driving a wedge between myself and Gabriella for her own selfish gain.

So it made sense that Sharpay wasn't coming, but it made absolutely none at all that Ryan was. Why would he come? They weren't friends. "You're inviting Ryan?"

Gabriella nodded, slowly. "I was thinking about it. I don't know. We'll see."

"You guys are friends, then?" I swallowed, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the situation. "When did this happen?"

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Gabriella drew her knees up to her chest. "Um, we're not exactly friends, per say. I don't know, I guess we'll see how things go."

I chuckled awkwardly, even though nothing about the situation was funny. Just filling up space, feeling uncomfortable. "See how what goes? I figured since he was Sharpay's brother he'd be on the black list."

At this Gabriella laughed, high pitched and just as awkwardly as I had chuckled. "No, he um, he asked me to go to the carnival with him tonight."

"Oh." I responded, looking down at the ground in front of me. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. "Um, so you're going to the carnival with him? Tonight?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Like," I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Like a date?"

Sucking in a breath, Gabriella unraveled her legs. "Um, yeah. I guess so. Like...like a date."

My head started spinning. Gabriella was going on a date. Gabriella was going on a date with another boy. Gabriella was going on a date with someone who wasn't me. Gabriella was going on a date with Ryan Evans. I felt sick.

Did this mean she was over me? That she didn't care about me anymore? That when she said she wanted to be friends, she meant strictly friends and just friends. That she didn't...love me anymore?

Didn't love me the way that I loved her?

"Oh," I said. "I um, that's...great."

A beat passed between us, in which I felt like I was about to hyperventilate. I dropped my head in my hands, trying to keep my composure.

Then I felt it.

Gabriella's hand slid over top of mine, lacing our fingers together and dragging my hand over to her lap. "Hey, Troy," she said and I looked up at her. Her eyes were big and her cheeks flushed, and she looked at me, her gaze running over my face. She smiled slightly. "It's just a date..."

I swallowed again and squeezed her hand, grabbing her other one and lacing our fingers once more. "I know, but Gabi..."

She looked up at me and I suddenly could feel all of the things that went between us, all of them unsaid. I wanted to tell her not to go on a date with Ryan, to just wait a bit. To wait for me, even if it was selfish. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry for everything, and that I loved her, and more than anything, to not go on that date with Ryan.

But just as I was about to open my mouth, a black car pulled up in the driveway and there was a shriek from inside. The house door flung open and Carmen emerged, a large grin on her face, her hair trailing wildly behind her as she ran down the dock steps.

A man stepped out of the car, tall, with an equally large smile on his face. He had dark hair and glasses, and Carmen threw herself into his arms and he twirled her around. I felt Gabriella drop my hands and she stood up quickly.

"Alex is here!" she whispered, before making her way down the dock steps to greet him, just like nothing had happened between us.

Just like I hadn't almost put my heart on the line.

* * *

><p>"Troy where are we going?" Helen said from the backseat of the car. "I'm bored! Are we even there yet?"<p>

I glanced in the rearview mirror and smirked at my sister, who was pouting and kicking up a fuss. I purposely hadn't told her where we were headed, and this fact was starting to get a little more than frustrating for her. She was kicking the seat incessantly, whining and proclaiming her boredom. It was all greatly amusing for me, if only because the car ride had only been about twenty minutes so far.

"I told you, Len," I said, catching her eyes in the mirror. "We are going on a super secret mission."

Helen folded her arms and pursed her lips. "I know that!" she said, letting out an aggravated, over dramatic sigh. "But what kind of mission, I mean? Are we going to get in trouble? Are we going to get arrested? Why won't you tell me?"

I laughed, shaking my head as I rounded the corner just by our destination. "We're not going to get in trouble and we're not going to get arrested, Lenny," I said, and I could see that she was still not satisfied. "But calm down, would you? We're almost there."

"But where is there, Troy?" she whined. "I'm bored!"

Taking a deep breath, I ignored her as we pulled into the parking lot. My mother had been wary to let Helen go with me on this trip, given that she hadn't had a nap all afternoon. Since she was going to the carnival tonight with Alex and Carmen, it was important in my mother's eyes that she rest up to gain some energy so she wasn't cranky. Now, I could see where my mom was coming from, considering that Helen was already cranky, and it was only mid-afternoon. I felt slightly bad for Alex and Carmen, knowing what they were going to deal with wasn't going to be pretty, but at the same time I figured this was something Helen would really, really enjoy.

Pulling up into the parking lot, I turned around and grinned at Helen. "Okay, Len, we're here. You can hop out now."

Letting out a squeal of excitement, Helen anxiously unbuckled the seatbelt on her car-seat and launched herself out of the door. Laughing to myself, I climbed out and walked around to where she was standing, squatting down so we were at eye level. I looked at her seriously.

"Okay, Helen, this is a very important, very secret mission. It is very important that you never utter a word of what you saw here today, is that understood?" I said to her, slowly. The last thing I wanted for her to do was to ruin the surprise.

Helen nodded quickly, her head bopping up and down. "You can count on me, Troy! I'm not gonna tell anyone! Not mom or dad, or Maria, or Eddy, or Carmen, or Alex, or Gabriella!"

At this, I cut her off. "Especially not Gabriella, Helen! No matter what, make sure you do not tell Gabriella about this, okay?" She nodded again. I shook my head and held out my palm. "I don't know if that's good enough, Len. We're gonna have to spit on it."

Helen scrunched up her nose. "I don't wanna spit on it!" she cried, "spitting is gross and I am a lady, Troy!"

I shrugged. "You have no choice, Len. You gotta spit on it or else you cannot come in with me. You'll have to wait in the car."

"I don't wanna wait in the car!" Helen stamped her foot. "You are such a meanie Troy."

"This is really serious business, Lenny," I said solemnly, "I can't have anyone ruining the surprise, and since I trust you and have made you my second in command on this top secret mission, you gotta spit on it so I know that you aren't an undercover spy."

Helen quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not an undercover spy!"

"I don't know, Len," I let out a heavy sigh. "You're being awfully difficult. Maybe I was wrong in choosing you to be on this super secret mission. Maybe I should go home and get Carmen to come with me..."

"No!" Helen squealed. "No, I wanna go on the mission! I'll spit on it, Troy, I'll spit on it!" With that, Helen brought her tiny palm to her lips and spit a mouthful of saliva on it, before sticking it out in front of me. "See? I spit on it!"

"We have to shake first," I said, spitting on my own palm and clasping hers within mine in a handshake. "Now, repeat after me. I, Helen Sarah Bolton,"

"I, Helen Sarah Bolton," she repeated and I continued.

"So solemnly swear..."

"So solemnly swear..."

"Not to tell anybody about what we're doing today..."

"Not to tell anybody about what we're doing today..."

"Especially not Gabriella."

"Especially not Gabriella!"

I shook her hand three times. "There, now you have spit on it, and we can go inside. Are you ready, Agent Bolton?"

Helen giggled and nodded excitedly, removing her hand from mine and wiping the remaining spit on her dress. "Yes sir, Agent Troy! But where are we going?"

Scooping Helen up in my arms, I walked over to the door wedged in between a medical building and a dance studio. "You'll see."

Opening the door, we walked in and were greeted by a friendly clerk at the front dress, who led us to the back. A loud noise led the way, and I saw Helen perk up as it got louder as we neared.

"Is that..." she craned her head to get a better look, "is that barking?"

Grinning, I looked at my sister. "Wanna help pick out a birthday present for Gabriella?"

Helen furrowed her brow, confused. "Are we, are we getting her a...a..."

Just at that moment, we walked into the kennel, and Helen let out a shriek before clapping loudly. "Puppies! Oh gosh, Troy, puppies! Let me down, let me down, let me down!"

Laughing to myself, I set Helen back down on the ground and she ran over to where all of the dogs were. They barked excitedly at her, running forward and wagging their tails as she squealed and tried to pet them through their cages. I grinned, my heart feeling warm and light.

"Are we getting Gabriella a puppy for her birthday, Troy?" she said from her spot on the floor as she crouched in front of a golden retriever puppy. "Are we really?"

I nodded, smiling. "Yes we are, Agent Bolton. We are getting Gabriella a puppy for her birthday."

When Gabriella said that she had asked for a puppy every single birthday of her life, she hadn't been exaggerating. For as long as I had known her, every year she had requested a dog. When she was little, she used to make a birthday wish list, and the only things on that list would be a drawing of a chocolate cake and a drawing of a puppy.

And every year, she was filled with disappointment at not getting a dog. Her parents explained that no one was home enough to take care of a puppy, and that it would get sad and lonely and sick all by itself. Gabriella of course cried and said that she was at home, but then they explained that she had to go to school, and Carmen had to go to school, and they had to work, so who would be around to play with it? Eventually, Gabriella would calm down and they'd give her a stuffed dog, and she would be content.

Until her next birthday, where the process would repeat itself all over again.

As she got older, Gabriella stopped giving lists, but would still tell anyone who asked her what she wanted for her birthday that all she wanted was a puppy. After our conversation this morning when she had mentioned that she still wanted a dog, and that her building allowed them, I thought about it for a few minutes before deciding that that was what I wanted to give her for her birthday. I wanted to get her a dog.

Despite the fact that she lived alone and didn't technically require such permission, I asked if it was okay with her parents, and by extension, mine. The puppy would be living with us for the rest of the summer and I wanted to make sure it was okay, even though I was fairly certain that I would have done anything to make the situation okay if it meant that Gabriella would finally get her pet dog, and I would be the one to give it to her. Her parents had seemed skeptical for a moment, only because they had spent so many years resisting their daughter's plea to have a dog. But Maria had seemed oddly fond of the idea, beaming so largely that I had wanted to give Gabriella a present at all, that she had accepted without much thought at all.

I wasn't sure if it was because our parents were so happy that we were reconciling or what, but they all agreed rather easily. Maybe it was the combination of having such an awful summer the year before, and the nebulous future of the summers after this one that made them so agreeable. Maybe they wanted to make this summer something to remember.

Regardless of their reasoning, before I knew it, I was gathering up Helen and making my way over to the local animal shelter.

"She seems excited!" the redheaded girl who worked at the shelter said as she came to stand beside me. "Is she picking out her own puppy?"

I shook my head. "No, we're here to pick one out as a gift."

The girl nodded. "Oh, I see! Well, was there a certain type of breed you were interested in?"

I shrugged. "Not particularly, we just want to give a dog a good home to someone who deserves one, that's all. Not a huge dog, I guess," I said, thinking it over. "The girl we're giving it to is pretty slight and tiny, and she's going to probably want to have it sleep with her. I don't want it to roll over and crush her."

Laughing, the girl quirked an eyebrow. "How old is she?"

"She's twenty," I said, "but like I said, she's petite. Maybe a type of dog that could also protect her? Not something that would attack anyone, of course, but you know. Something that would bark if a robber or something would appear."

"It seems you've given this a lot of thought," the girl said, smiling. "Why don't you take a look around? We've got a lot of dogs here that are plenty deserving of a good home, big and small."

I nodded. "That's a good idea. Thanks." Walking over to Helen, I crouched down, seeing that she was bouncing from cage to cage.

"What are you thinking, Len?" I asked, "any puppies seem to fit the bill?"

"I don't know what that means," Helen said, her face filled with joy. "But. I think we should get Gabriella all of them!"

Laughing, I looked in one of the cages at a Jack Russell terrier. "We can't get her all of them, Lenny. We can only get her one. And try to pick a small one, okay?"

Helen looked over at me with big eyes. "You want me to pick the puppy all by myself?"

I nodded. "Well, I will help, but I really wanted you to help me, too, Len. It's a big deal, picking out a puppy."

Nodding slowly, Helen looked around the room, stopping in front of a cage with a white poodle inside. The dog looked miserable, scowling and growling when Helen approached. "What about a poodle?" she asked.

"Uh, no," I shook my head. "Poodles aren't really a Gabriella dog." I inwardly thought the dog weirdly reminded me of Sharpay. "Pick something a little...sweeter."

"Hmmm." Helen wandered over to a chocolate lab puppy. "How about this one? He seems sweet!"

"He'll get too big, Len. I don't want the dog to crush Gabi."

Helen hmm'ed and haa'ed for a few moments, before her eyes went wide and she ran across the room to a cage a few feet down from where I was. She got down on her knees and peered inside. Then she looked up at me with a grin.

"This one," she said, practically bouncing in her excitement. "I want to get Gabi this puppy."

I came to sit beside her and looked inside the cage. There was a very, very tiny pug sitting inside, and it scooted over, limping slightly as it came to greet Helen. She stuck her hand in through the bars and it barked happily, wagging it's tail and licking Helen's fingers. She giggled.

"Yes, this one!" she said, "I think you should get her this one!"

I frowned. The puppy seemed very weak, and the way it was walking concerned me. "Excuse me, miss?" I said, ushering over the girl who was distributing food to some of the dogs. "What's the story behind this one?"

The girl smiled softly, crouching down and scratching the dog behind his ears. "This would be Flynn," she said, "he was the runt of his litter and was unfortunately picked over by any breeders and buyers, so he ended up here."

"The runt?" I asked, looking back at the small dog who seemed absolutely delighted at the attention Helen was paying him.

"Yeah," the girl said with a nod. "He has a bit of a birth defect that caused his leg to develop awkwardly, but it should right itself out in time. He's doing remarkably better, gaining weight and learning to walk better. It really seemed like he wasn't going to make it for a while, according to his breeders, but he's a fighter."

I looked down at the puppy and thought to myself. He was small, he was fragile, and he was still surviving. Still happy. He was a fighter. Just like Gabriella. Just like...

And I knew at that moment that Helen was right. This was Gabriella's dog.

Turning to the girl, I smiled. "Where do we fill out the paperwork?"

* * *

><p>I had heard about Alex many, many times over the course of the summer thus far, and yet I had never thought about him. Considered what he would have been like, what his interests were, his appearance. Partly it was because I didn't care; despite the unexpected friend in Carmen, I was too wrapped up in my own problems and dramas and thoughts to think about who she was marrying. She seemed happy and as the brother she never had, I was happy that she was happy.<p>

Though if I tried to imagine who Carmen would marry, I would never have expected Alexander Robert.

I suppose I always imagined that Carmen would marry someone who was tan, buff, and with cropped hair. Someone who used the word 'brother' to greet every guy he met, who would obnoxiously call her 'Baby' and have some sort of souped up ride. Who'd have an aggravated temper to match Carmen's fiery personality.

As it was, Alex was nothing like that.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Carmen asked later that night, pulling her jacket on. I shook my head and she let out a sigh of frustration. "Oh, come on, Troy! It's a carnival! They're fun!"

I looked over at her from my spot on the couch. "Carmen, really, I'd rather stay home."

Beside her, Alex was helping Helen strap on her sandals. She had taken an immediate liking to him, but then again, Helen liked everybody. "Car, don't pester him. If he doesn't want to come, he doesn't want to come."

I grinned. "Thank you, Alex. Nice to see the balance has been restored around here."

Carmen rolled her eyes. "If you two team up in some band of brothers nonsense all summer, I am seriously leaving early. I mean it."

"Why would that be a bad thing...?" I asked, picking up the remote and flipping through the channels. There seemed to be nothing on TV but chick flicks and reality shows about families. "It's not like we'd miss you."

"Ha!" Carmen let out of scoff. "That's a laugh. You'd go crazy without someone to buffer you and Gabriella's endless drama." She paused, folding her arms. "You could spy on Gabriella and her date," she added in a sing song voice, and I stiffened.

As I sat there on the couch, I tried not to think of what Gabriella was doing with Ryan Evans at that very moment. Were they laughing? Was he winning her a giant panda bear? Were they sharing a candy apple? Was she doing all of the things we had done together...with him?

I closed my eyes. "I really, really don't want to go, Carmen. Sorry."

Carmen let out a sigh, and I glanced over at her, seeing her uncross her arms. Alex frowned beside her, helping Helen up from the floor.

"This is your last chance," Carmen said, picking up her purse. "Speak now or forever hold your peace."

"Honey, seriously, leave the poor guy alone," Alex frowned, wrapping his arm around her waist. "He doesn't want to go."

Carmen huffed. "Okay, time to go. Say goodbye, Helen."

Helen ran over to me and threw her arms around my neck. "Bye, Troy!" she said, before leaning up and pressing a smacking kiss against my cheek. She pulled back and patted me on the head once, before grinning, hopping off the couch, and running back over to the door. Carmen laughed and ushered Helen out of the house, and then they were gone. I was left with the feeling that I definitely, definitely liked Alex Robert.

Now hours later, I was still seated in front of the television, still trying not to think about what Gabriella was doing at that moment. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Everyone was still out, even though it was past Helen's bed time. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up, walking to the kitchen to get a drink.

Stepping into the kitchen, I heard hushed voices coming from outside. Glancing out the window, I saw Gabriella standing on the deck, and made a move to go to the backdoor to step out to greet her. Maybe dig a little and find out how her date was.

Until I saw she wasn't alone.

Ryan appeared, grinning brightly and laughing and I felt my stomach lurch. Gabriella stood in front of him, giggling slightly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Under her arm was a stuffed monkey, and I instantly knew it was one of the smaller prizes from the ring toss, and not at all as good of a prize as the giant lion I had won her two years before.

But even with her crappy prize, she looked...happy. Beaming up at Ryan, she spoke in hushed tones, and I strained to hear what she was saying. Was she telling him she had a good time? Was she telling him that although she had a good time, she thought that they should just stay friends? Was she telling him that she was so happy she went out with him, because she had a horrible time and now knew where her heart truly lied?

Feeling anxious, I tried to look away. I should leave, not watch, but I couldn't help it. Instead I stood there, feeling my palms sweat, as I saw Ryan Evans wrap an arm around Gabriella's waist and pull her closer, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to her's.

Gabriella dropped the stuffed monkey and wrapped her arms around his neck, and then, underneath the dim porch light, she kissed him back.

I walked away then, thinking of carnival two year's prior. How we had made out on the ferris wheel and how she had tasted like cotton candy. How we had shared a giant soda and I won her the giant lion and she had been so excited to carry it around all night, proudly. How when we had gotten home she told me she loved me before kissing me under the same porch light, and we went upstairs while everyone else was asleep and snuck into my bedroom and slid under the covers, stealing kisses and laughing because we were that happy.

I went back to the living room and heard the backdoor open and pretending like I didn't feel like I had been punched in the gut. Like I wasn't totally blindsided by just how much had changed, and just how much of it was my fault.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to Julina and Kirsten, as always! Tracks up at my journal!<strong>

**I would write more but I am le tired. I really enjoy how this chapter turned out! Troy's chapters are always harder to write, but I tend to like them ever so slightly more? Yet Gabi's are so easy for me to write! I don't know!**

**Thank you all for the continued support!**


	9. My Last Summer With You

**I Love You More Than French Fries **

Chapter Nine: My Last Summer With You

"_I'm the hero of this story, no need to be saved._"

- Hero by Regina Spektor

* * *

><p>When I was younger, my mother tried to explain to me that life itself isn't always happy. That life was really just a bunch of happy moments in between strung together to make something wonderful. As I grew older, I wanted to reject this idea. Why couldn't we be happy all of the time? As she was teaching me this belief in life, this way of living, she was also telling me that life was what you made it. To me, it was a contradiction: why couldn't be happy all of the time if we made our own lives? Why didn't we just work hard to make them happy? Wasn't it possible?<p>

But once I was about sixteen, and started to understand what love and heartache really meant, I realized that part of the reason for sadness was that you didn't always (if ever) control it. Other people made you unhappy, other people made you sad, and things out of your control made you cry. If you were able to conduct your life to a tee, then of course you would conduct it so your life was completely and eternally happy. But in addition to making your life with your own hands and working towards those happy moments, you also couldn't control everything, and you certainly couldn't control others.

So instead I began working towards moments. Those in between moments that apparently defined our lives and made them worth living. I can recall at least three moments in the last two years that I don't think I will ever forget, ones that have helped shape me into the person I am. It's important to note that these aren't moments I have created fully on my own; in each instance, other people were involved, and in all of them, Troy was at the crux of it all.

The first would be the first time I kissed Troy on the mouth and it meant something. We had kissed before, when we were twelve and fourteen respectively, and it had meant nothing. It was a silly dare during a silly game with some of the kids from around the beach, ones who as they got older disappeared to cities and apartment buildings and decided that beaches and summer homes weren't worth their entertainment anymore. It had been rushed and it was a little too wet, and we had laughed about it afterward, rubbing the taste of each other off with the back of our hands like we had been poisoned.

The first time I kissed Troy and it meant something, I had been fifteen, almost sixteen. Troy was seventeen. It was the beginning of summer, and we had a long stretch of weeks ahead of us, of things to do and places to go, and we were going to do them all together. I had been officially in love with Troy since I was thirteen years old; exactly one summer after we had kissed. It was like getting a taste of him had triggered something in me, as if I had decided that maybe he wasn't just my smelly best friend, but really, my attractive older guy best friend who was really, really attractive. And smart. And funny. And athletic.

As it was, I spent the entire next two summers of my youth pining over Troy and convincing myself that he would never really like me back. It got to the point where I was so certain that he would never reciprocate my feelings, that I had decided not to ever mention them to him. I had decided that the best approach to handling how I felt about Troy was to act like I had boys hanging all over me and was interested in mostly all of them.

This act lasted maybe a week, and I could tell that Troy was getting increasingly frustrated with me. At the time, I couldn't tell if it was because he could see through my charade (there were, at the time, no boys interested in me, and the only boy I was interested in happened to be him) or if was because he was simply jealous. I wanted to believe the latter, and looking back on it, I think it was a combination of both. Regardless, I continued to name drop as many boys in my grade as I could, and Troy continued to be annoyed by it.

One evening, I had convinced him to take me to the pier to get ice cream and to go for a walk. It hadn't taken much convincing on his part at all, and really if I was more clued into these things, I suppose, I would have taken it as a hint that he maybe wanted to spend time with me. Not that I ever felt like he didn't; we were best friends, after all, but maybe I just would have realized that my feelings weren't just one sided.

After we got our ice cream; two scoops of mint chocolate chip for me, and two scoops of cherry garcia for him, we began to walk along the pier, and I recounted how I had been IM'ing a boy from my math class the night before.

"We talked for maybe an hour," I had said in between licks of my ice cream. "It was nice, I guess. I don't know, I want to keep my options open."

Beside me, Troy rolled his eyes. "You're not even sixteen yet, of course you should keep your options open."

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "Of course. Who knows, maybe something better will come along."

Troy glanced over at me, and flushed. "Maybe."

"_Or,_" I said, feeling bold, "maybe it already has come along."

Troy stopped walking then, and looked at me. I mean, really looked at me. I felt myself flush from the tips of my toes to the tips of my ears to the hairs on my head. I laughed awkwardly under his gaze.

"What?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Letting out a breath, Troy tossed the remainder of his ice cream to the side. "Fuck it," he said, before wrapping his palm around the back of my neck and pulling me flush against him, covering my mouth with his.

I dropped my own cone, before locking my arms around his waist and tasting the cherries on his lips.

Of course, what came after that was a lot of blushing and more kisses and awkward conversations about feelings and hopes and dreams. By the end of the month, we had been on our first official date, and by the end of summer, we were an official couple. My sixteenth birthday was the best I ever had, the year Troy had the star named after me, if only because it was the first birthday we spent _together_.

That moment changed my life, because it brought Troy and I together. It filled me with a peace and happiness that I couldn't replicate for the next few years. The other moments that had also changed my life were with Troy: the second was when he encouraged me to go into treatment. The third was when we broke up.

A moment can change your life for better or worse. In most cases with Troy, the moments I shared with him changed my life for the better. In some cases, they changed it for the worst.

I wasn't willing to seek out moments the way I used to, instead just rolling with the punches, waiting for things to happen. Waiting for moments to creep up on you and make you laugh, or make you cry. Waiting for moments to change my life.

Sometimes I wished that there would be no moments. That I was fine in this state where nothing happened, where nothing changed for better or worse.

Cause as much as a moment could make parts of your life happy, it also could make your life fall apart.

And you can do nothing to control it.

* * *

><p>When I woke up on the morning of my twentieth birthday, it was pouring rain. And not just any kind of rain, but the heavy, never ending, loud kind of rain. Big, fat, watery drops cascaded down the window panes and made little puddles in the sand and the grass. The water and the beach couldn't even be seen, the sky thick with white fog. I frowned.<p>

I should have taken it as a sign.

However, instead of immediately nothing the bad weather as a sign of things to come, I shook off the thought and smiled. I was feeling lighter lately, happier, even. Things felt more simple, and something like a little rain couldn't possibly be something that would ruin my whole birthday. All it meant was that I was going to have to have all of my birthday festivities indoors. That wasn't so bad.

So instead of curling into a ball and completely renouncing the day as my birthday, I laid back on my bed and smiled. I was finally twenty; I was no longer a child. No longer a teenager. No longer racing to get to an age that didn't make me feel like a tiny infant. I was twenty. I was an adult. I was a woman.

Grinning to myself, I rolled over, glancing at the stuffed monkey that was sitting on my nightstand. My heart did the tiniest of flips, and I felt my grin grow a little wider. That was one of the reasons I had been feeling so good lately; Ryan Evans.

To my massive surprise, Ryan turned out to be absolutely nothing like his sister. He was quieter, thought more deeply, and witty in an unexpected way. He was charming, held open doors for me and laid a gentle hand on my arm or the small of my back when leading me through crowds. He texted me just because he felt like saying hi, and called when he said he would, but did it all without being overbearing or annoying. His blonde hair was getting lighter by the day, his skin growing darker from the sun that he was spending an increasing amount of time in. His eyes were blue and expressive; a lighter shade than Troy's, and maybe they didn't quite sparkle in the same way when he laughed, but I didn't expect them to. I didn't want them to.

He was Ryan, he wasn't Troy, and more than anything, I was having a good time with him. I was enjoying his company, enjoying the dates we had been on (after the carnival, we had been on two more; one to dinner and a movie—Chad had seen us at the theatre and teased us mercilessly—another to the bowling alley, and I was loving getting to know him. It had all of the makings of a perfect summer romance, and for the first time in nearly three years, I found myself excited at the prospect of romance. Excited for what the day was going to bring instead of dreading it. For the first time all summer, I was happy that I was here at the summer house.

And that was all thanks to Ryan Evans, who also happened to be an incredible kisser.

I had never been one to kiss on the first date, but something about standing across from Ryan that night had felt right, so when he leaned in and placed his lips against mine, I kissed him back. It was the perfect first kiss, light and gentle, soft and romantic. He didn't use too much pressure and his lips were soft, not chapped, not too wet, but not dry. It hadn't been bad at all.

So yes. Things were certainly looking up.

However, I thought as I rolled over and gazed at the other side of the room, it would be unfair to credit all of my happiness just to Ryan. While he was a welcome distraction, and had certainly helped me get out of my sad summer slump, I couldn't deny that there was something else making me happy.

Or rather someone else.

And that would be Troy.

Troy and I had been taking things slowly in terms of starting over. Talking in the living room after dinner, playing Scrabble on the deck on a nice night. Things were still a little awkward, and a part of me feared they were always going to be. But we were still making progress, and I knew that with time, we could put all this behind us. We could be friends again.

Sometimes I wondered, though, if we were ever really friends at all. If having a simple, platonic relationship was really possible between the two of us, or whether or not we were an all or nothing kind of pair. As much as I tried not to think about it, I did, because as much as I loved spending time with Ryan, I also loved spending time with Troy. As much as I enjoyed kissing Ryan, it still reminded me of what it was like to kiss Troy. But that was normal, wasn't it? To compare the new and the old in the early days of a new relationship?

Even if it wasn't, I couldn't find it in myself to be ashamed or concerned. I couldn't bring myself to think there was something wrong with the small ways I compared Ryan to Troy.

Rolling over, I closed my eyes shut and tried to think of something else. Today was my birthday. My mom had bought a chocolate cake from the best bakery in town, and my dad had promised that we were going to have fresh seafood and vegetables for dinner. Chloe, Chad, Zeke, and Ryan were going to come over, and Troy had said he would be there, too. My sister and Alex had made a great big deal over a surprise they had for me, and I couldn't help but wonder what they would consider to be so very exciting.

Just as I was considering climbing out of bed and starting my day—my first official day as a twenty year old—my phone rang. Groaning to myself, I scooted across the bed to my nightstand and picked up my phone, glancing at the caller ID.

My heart skipped a beat. It was Ryan.

Feeling almost shy, I answered the phone, bringing it to my ear. "Hi," I whispered softly.

"Happy birthday, Gabriella!" Ryan's cheerful voice came from the other end. "You're twenty years old! Woo!"

I giggled into my pillow and rolled over onto by back. "Finally!" I said, grinning at the ceiling. "It only took my whole life."

"Hey, hey now," Ryan said and I could hear him rustling with something on the other end. "This is a big feat. You shouldn't belittle how long it took you to age! Some people just move faster than others."

"Like yourself?" I quipped, reminding him of the two years he had on me.

Ryan laughed. "Exactly like myself. So tell me, Gabriella, how does it feel? Do you feel taller? Wiser?"

Turning over onto my stomach, I propped my chin in my hands. "Hmmm, I can't say I do. I don't think I'll ever feel taller, and I'm already as wise as they come, so..."

"But of course," Ryan said, "you're the wisest twenty year old in all of the land."

"You bet," I agreed, "the smartest and the wisest."

"And the prettiest," Ryan added, and I felt my skin flush.

"Such a charmer," I whispered, my voice feeling weaker than it had a minute ago.

"Ah," Ryan said, and I could tell I embarrassed him slightly. "But it's the truth."

A silence settled in between us. I never did well with receiving compliments to begin with, but something about having Ryan give me them made me even more nervous and shy. It was so new, to hear a boy say such things about me, a boy that wasn't Troy. It wasn't necessarily a bad feeling, but I couldn't say that it wasn't unsettling. It was just...different. It would take some getting used to.

Sitting up, I picked at a loose thread on my duvet. "Are you still coming tonight?"

"Of course!" Ryan said quickly, excitedly. "Gabriella Montez's twentieth birthday? I wouldn't miss it for the world."

I felt myself smiling, the awkwardness from the moment before completely gone. Ryan had that way of disarming me ever so slightly, taking me out of myself and putting me at ease. "You sure you're not just coming for the free cake?"

Ryan let out a scoff, as if the thought was absurd. "Free cake? They serve cake on birthdays? I wasn't even aware of this!"

I let out a gasp. "You mean you've never had a birthday cake in your life?"

"Never!" Ryan said, sounding outraged. "Never in my life! If I wasn't coming for the cake, I certainly am now!"

"Oh really, now?" Giggling, I rolled my eyes. "I shouldn't have said anything, then!"

Ryan laughed. "I'll come for the cake, but I'll stay for the pretty girl."

I blushed brightly again. "Such a sweet talker."

"And again, I'll tell you that it's not sweet talking if it's the truth," Ryan said. I was about to retort, when I saw my door opening out of the corner of my eye. I glanced up, and my eyes met with Troy's. He smiled at me and stepped into the room.

"Hi," he said softly, closing the door behind him. He was holding a small wrapped package in his hand and smiling shyly. His brow furrowed as he saw that I was on the phone.

Ryan was still babbling on the other end of the phone, and I looked up at Troy in surprise. "Hi!" I responded, surprised at his arrival. "Just a sec." Moving the receiver back to my mouth, I cut Ryan off. "Hey, sorry, I've gotta go," i said quickly.

"Oh," Ryan said, disappointed. "Okay. I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah!" I said with a smile. "I'll see you later!"

Ryan said goodbye and hung up, and then I sat up a little straighter, smiling at Troy. "Hi," I said again, "sorry about that."

Troy shook his head and walked over to me. "Don't worry about it, I should be the one apologizing. I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"Oh, no, you weren't, it's fine," I said with a shrug. "It was just Ryan."

At this, Troy visibly stiffened, and I wished I had lied and said it was a telemarketer instead. "Oh," he ran a hand across the back of his neck. "I see. Ryan, huh?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He was just calling to wish me a happy birthday."

"Oh," Troy said again, standing awkwardly in front of me. He shuffled the package in his hands back and forth, looking down at the ground. "That was nice of him. Was, um, was he the first one to wish you a happy birthday, then?"

I bit my lip, reading the thoughts in Troy's mind without him even saying anything. For as many summers as I had spent at the summer house, Troy had always been the first one to wish me a happy birthday, even last year when we were on rocky ground. "Yeah, he was," I said, nodding, and I could see Troy's shoulders slump ever so slightly.

"Ah," he said, coming to sit at the edge of my bed, still fiddling with the package in his hand. "Well, that makes sense, I guess. All things considering."

I didn't say anything, instead adverting my eyes from him and settling on the bed. The distance between our bodies was less than a foot. It still felt too far.

"How, um," Troy cleared his throat. "How are things with you two? Going well?"

Nodding, I didn't look up. "Yeah, it's going well. He's really nice."

"That's..." Troy trailed off. "That's good. As long as he...treats you right."

I looked up at Troy then and was startled to see the intense gaze he had fixed on me. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "He does," I said, "at least, so far..."

Troy nodded. "Good, good. That's good." He cleared his throat again. "Um, well, since I can't be the first one to wish you happy birthday, I guess I can be the first one to give you a gift? Or did he beat me to that, too?"

He smiled, showing that he was joking, but I detected an edge to his tone that didn't exactly leave me with a warm feeling. "No, he didn't," I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

At this, Troy brightened slightly. "Good! Then the first one to give you a present will be me."

I laughed, feeling a flush spread across my cheeks. "Ah, you didn't have to get me anything, Troy," I said, glancing over at the package in his hands. "And if you had given me some warning, I would have cleaned myself up. Instead, I'm totally disheveled!"

Troy shook his head. "Nah, you look beautiful, Gabi," he smiled softly. "As always."

Unlike with Ryan's compliments, I found myself unable to come back with a witty retort. Instead, I just flushed a couple of shades darker and found myself unable to speak. "Thanks," I mumbled, bowing my head once more. Another silence settled in between us, and once more, I was left feeling like there was entirely too much space between us.

Troy chuckled awkwardly. "Anyway," he said, shuffling on the bed, "this is for you." He extended a small square package wrapped in blue wrapping paper covered with white polka dots. There was a small gold bow on the corner, and a tiny card with my name written in his messy scrawl. I smiled, feeling my skin flush yet again. This kind of attention from Troy had that affect on me. "Happy twentieth birthday, Gabi."

"Thank you, seriously, Troy," I said, taking the present. Our fingers brushed, and I felt a jolt run through me, before shaking it off at how silly I was being. Troy had given me a present every year since I was seven. This shouldn't be any different. However, as I slowly ripped the paper, I realized my hands were trembling ever so slightly, and things were very different.

"I hope you like it," Troy said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's nothing super special, but you know, it's your birthday, and—"

"Troy!" I cut him off, laughing. "I'm sure I'll love it, whatever it is. Seriously, you didn't have to do this..."

I trailed off as I opened the box and looked at the contents inside. "Oh my god, Troy," I whispered, feeling my face split into a grin. "This is...so wonderful!"

Inside of the box was a brass necklace. At the end of the chain was a small bow pendant, which connected to another pendant: that of a pug. I looked up at him, grinning brightly. "Troy!" I practically squealed, feeling like a child. "You got me a dog!"

Troy laughed, grinning back at me. "Not exactly. I figured since I couldn't get you the real thing, this would have to do."

"I love it," I said, holding up the necklace and watching the pendant dangle in front of my eyes. "I love it. I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it."

Still laughing, Troy scooted closer on the bed. "Did you want help putting it on?"

I nodded, and handed him the necklace, before turning around so my back was to him. Gathering my hair up in one hand, I pulled it over the side of my shoulder. I felt Troy settle in behind me, before opening the clasp of the necklace and placing it around my neck. I tried not to move, feeling that even though we had gotten physically closer in the last few moments, he was still too far away. I wanted to pull him close and thank him for giving me this necklace, for remembering something that had been so important to me for so many years. I felt his breath on the back of my neck, and his fingers grazed my skin ever so slightly as he clasped the necklace back together, before pulling away.

"There we go," he said, "all set."

Letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding, I turned around and smiled at him, my heart pounding. "Thank you, Troy," I said, my voice sounding shaky even to my own ears. "I love it. Really."

Giving me a lopsided smile, Troy shrugged. "No big deal," he said. "Happy birthday, Gabi."

He paused then, as if he was contemplating something, before leaning forward and placing his hand on the back of my head, before placing a kiss on the top of my forehead. Drawing back, he smiled. "I hope you have an amazing day."

With that, he stood up and began to make his way out of the room. "Wait!" I called, suddenly not wanting him to leave. I wanted him to stay. "Where are you going?"

"I have to run some errands," he said, gesturing to the door. "It shouldn't take long."

I bit my lip. "Did you want company? I could come with you?"

"No!" Troy said quickly, and I felt my stomach drop at how quickly he had turned down my offer. "I mean, it won't take long, and it's just boring guy stuff. You wouldn't want to come anyway."

I frowned. "Oh. Okay."

Troy smiled awkwardly. "I'll be back in time for your party, though. I'll see you later?"

I nodded, mustering up a quick smile. "Yeah, for sure. See you later."

With one final wave, Troy walked out of the room, and I sat staring at the spot he had stood in. Swallowing, I brought my hand up and touched the pendant, letting out a breath. Something was a miss, I could feel it in my bones more than ever. Flopping back down on my bed, I rolled over before grabbing my cell phone, and dialing Chad's number.

There was a text from Ryan; he must have sent it after we got off the phone. I would respond to it later.

* * *

><p>"Okay, can someone explain to me why we are on a stake out?" Zeke said from the backseat of Chad's truck later that afternoon. "Outside of a flower shop, none the less."<p>

Adjusting the dial on the binoculars in my hands, I pursed my lips. "We're not on a stake out, Zeke," I said, "we're just searching for some clues."

There was a pause. "Are you sure?" Zeke sounded skeptical. "Because as far as I can tell, this is a stake out and we are actually stalking Troy. I mean, you have binoculars, and Chloe brought doughnuts, and Chad has been playing the Miami Vice theme song on loop. If this isn't a stake out, then I'm not sure what we're doing."

"Zeke!" Beside him, Chloe whacked him on the arm. "We filled you in on what's going on last week!"

"I'm just saying!" Zeke shrugged, "this more or less looks like we are following around Troy so Gabi can find out what he got for her birthday."

I rolled my eyes. "We're not following him around so I can figure out what he got me for my birthday, Zeke."

"Then what exactly do you expect to accomplish today? What is the mission statement for today if not 'find out what I am getting for my twentieth birthday'?" Zeke reached into the large box of doughnuts that Chloe had purchased, pulling out one covered in pink icing and rainbow sprinkles. "And you guys said you did this once before and all he did was go to the surf shop to pick up wax and then he stopped at the grocery store."

Chad turned around in the drivers seat, glaring at Zeke. "Dude, if you get sprinkles all over the seat, you are cleaning them up with your bare fucking hands, I mean it. This truck is my baby."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "This truck is a piece of shit, Chad," she said, pulling out her own doughnut. "I mean, I was actually surprised it worked this morning."

"Don't you dare talk shit about the truck, Chloe, or I will kick you out of it!" Chad snapped in retaliation. Chloe merely stuck her tongue out at him.

"I speak the truth," she said, wrapping her arms around the back of my seat and pulled herself forward so she was leaning over my shoulder. "But Zeke has a point, Gabi. Where do you think Troy is going? Do you really think it's going to have any answers for you?"

Lowering my binoculars (which didn't work very well and were pretty much all for show), I sighed. "I don't know where he's going. I just have a feeling. I can't help but feel that today is going to be the day that I figure out what's going on. That I figure out what's wrong."

There was another pause as everyone took in what I said. I brought the binoculars back up to my eyes and peered through them. Troy was inside the flower shop, had been for fifteen minutes, and was waiting for the shop keeper to come back. I knew that at the moment it seemed like we were following him for nothing. Almost as if this was the pastime we had decided on for the afternoon. But I knew there was something that would lead me to where I would get answers. Something to confirm or deny my suspicions. Something to help me realize what was wrong. I couldn't explain it, I couldn't put into words how I knew. I just did.

It was difficult conveying that, though, especially to Zeke. Chad and Chloe had been willing to help without any question, if only because they were there when I first suggested that something was wrong. It wasn't that Zeke was at all insensitive about the situation, just that he didn't quite understand what was going on in the way that Chad and Chloe did. Chloe understood because she was female, and maybe on some level she too, understood what it was like to feel things you couldn't explain.

Chad, on the other hand, Chad was willing because I knew deep down he wanted to know what was wrong with Troy just as much as I did. He wanted to know what was going, what he was hiding. Even though the two hadn't spoken in over a year, they still had a childhood bond that was hard to shake. One that transcended the kind of things we had been through. They were best friends, their relationship second only to mine and Troy's. Of course Chad would want to help.

After Troy had left my bedroom, I quickly called Chad while putting on jeans and clothes with one hand. I dressed as quickly as I could before throwing my hair up in a ponytail, brushing my teeth, and washing my face. Then Chad picked me up, Chloe in the backseat, and we ventured off down the block. There we sat, waiting for Troy's car to drive by. Zeke, who had been messaged by Chloe, met us there, and eventually when Troy's car came zipping down the street, we followed suit.

We had been following him ever since.

So far, he had been no where interesting. He stopped for gas and a drink at the local gas station and now he was at a flower shop. As much as I didn't want to admit it, he was probably there to get flowers for me, or for the party tonight, at the very least. I could see why Zeke would think this was purely superficial.

"Have you done any more research on what could be wrong?" Chad asked. "Based off of the pills you found."

I shook my head. "No, not really. In these kind of situations, trying to diagnose something through the internet is kind of useless. I either hit a wall and come up with nothing, or I come up with everything. There's so many things he could have and so many he couldn't have, and since I don't really know anything, it's hard to determine what it could be."

"And you're sure he's the one who's sick?" Zeke asked, biting into his doughnut. "Not someone else?"

"Yeah," I said with a nod. "It just doesn't make sense that it would be anyone else. It doesn't add up, logically. Besides, I just have this feeling. I know he's hiding something. I know whatever is wrong, it has to do with him."

Chad bit his lip. "That's a lot to go on just based on feelings, Gabi."

Sighing, I threw the binoculars on the dashboard. They were useless. "I know. I've told you, I can't explain it. And if you make me, I'm just going to go into some crazy talk about how Troy and I are two halves of a whole, two peas in a pod, and how we have some crazy connection that even twins don't have."

"And yet you're dating Ryan Evans," Chloe said, punching me in the arm.

"Oh, shut up," I said, glancing back at the shop. "It's not like—_guys_! He's coming!"

Sure enough, Troy was making his way out of the flower shop, a large bouquet of lilies in his hands. He made his way over to his car, opening the door, and climbing in. I felt my heart speed up. He hadn't seen us, but something about all of this gave me a thrill.

Okay, so it was kind of weird that we were following Troy around in a truck on a hot summer's day. But our intentions were good, and I decided that was what was going to justify it.

That and I was going to make sure Troy would never find out.

"Alright, so obviously those are for Gabi," Zeke said, taking out another doughnut. "Can we go home now? It'll be party time soon!"

I scoffed, turning around and whacking the doughnut out of his hand. "Zeke! This is serious! We will go home if that is where Troy is going!"

"I'm sorry, Gabi!" Zeke said, frowning. "I just find all of this more than a little weird, I can't help it. And Chad, she totally got sprinkles all over the backseat. Is she going to have to pick them up with her hands?"

Chad turned the key in the ignition, turning down the street and trying to casually follow Troy's car. "Nope," he responded, switching lanes.

Zeke frowned. "Why not?"

"Because it's her birthday," Chad retorted. "So you'll have to clean them up."

"With my hands?"

"With your hands."

I turned around and grinned at Zeke victoriously. "Ha ha ha! Take that!" I said. "I'm going to dump over the box with all of the loose sprinkles in the bottom just to make your life hell, Baylor."

Zeke shoved the rest of his doughnut in his mouth and chomped on it loudly. Chloe stared at him, rolling her eyes.

"You are an infant."

Looping his arm around her waist, Zeke pulled her in. "But you love it."

Chloe shoved him off of her, huffing. "Hardly."

"If you two don't stop, I am pulling you over and leaving you on the side of the road!" Chad snapped. "You are breaking my concentration, and it's hard enough to drive with in a noisy car, but even harder when you are trailing someone!"

"Okay, okay!" Chloe said, leaning back in her seat and staring out the window. "Do you have any idea where he might be headed, Gabi? Is it worth it to keep following him? I mean, it is pretty clear he's picking up stuff for you..."

I sighed, leaning my head against the window pane. "We'll make one more stop and then we'll quit the mission for today. Maybe I got my feeling wrong. He just seemed so insistent that I not come with him when I asked."

"Well, he did just buy your favourite flower," Chad pointed out. I pursed my lips. He was right.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this would lead no where. Maybe we were fooling ourselves into thinking we could be all Scooby Doo team on Troy and get to the bottom of whatever it was he was hiding. Maybe my feeling was completely off.

Though I knew one thing was for sure. Troy was hiding something. Something was still wrong.

Just maybe today wouldn't be the day I'd figure it all out.

"Oh, it looks like he's pulling over," Zeke said, sitting up in his seat. "I don't know what's around here, though."

Chloe squinted at the signs that we passed. "Not a whole lot, I think..." she bit her lip. "At least nothing that would be appropriate for birthday There's an ice cream shop and a small boutique. I think an animal shelter, too, and a health food store? And some sort of dance studio."

Zeke tapped me on the shoulder. "I ask once again, Gabi, are you sure this isn't just a bid to see what Troy got you?"

"No!" I protested. "Besides, he already gave me a gift."

"He already gave you a gift?" Chloe hit the back of my seat. "Why didn't you say something? It would have shut Zeke up! What was it?"

I felt my heart pound, watching as Troy continued down the street, a couple cars in front of us. "It was a necklace."

"A necklace?" Chloe squealed. "He got you jewelry! How adorable! Are you wearing it? Does it have a pendant? Let me see!"

In front of us, Troy made a right. "It's just got a pug on it. It's kind of sentimental. I can't explain it right now." I watched as he made his way down the street. "Chloe, what's around here? Do you know where he's going?"

Chloe looked out the window. "Um. Well, there's..." she trailed off, "but I don't know."

I turned around and looked at her. "Chloe, what's up here?"

She furrowed her brows and swallowed. "There's a medical building up ahead. Next to the dance studio and the animal shelter."

I felt my heart pick up speed. "He can't be going there, though. Why would he be going there? He has no reason to go to any of those places."

Chad glanced over at me. "He does if he's the one taking those pills."

"He won't pull over there, Gabi," Zeke said, suddenly, and I turned around to look at him. For the first time all afternoon, Zeke seemed completely serious. He seemed nervous. "He won't."

We all watched as Troy's car turned on it's turn signal, and pulled into the very parking lot we had suspected. The one with the medical building.

Chad pulled to a stop. "Gabi, I..."

"I knew it," I said quietly. "_I knew it._"

"Gabi, I—" Chad tried again, but I ignored him, my eyes fixed on Troy, who was parking his car. He started to get out, and I couldn't watch anymore.

"Let's go," I said, my voice tripping over itself. "Let's _go_, I don't want to see anything else."

We drove off then, leaving Troy to amble up to the building by himself. I felt sick. There was no reason for him to go to an animal shelter, and no reason for him to go to a dance studio. He was going to that medical building, to see a doctor, because he was sick.

Troy, my first love, the boy I cared about more than anyone in the world was sick.

And he had been hiding it from me.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, my birthday party was in full swing. Cheerful pop music was blaring from the stereo, my dad was frying up all kinds of things on the barbeque, and there was a giant chocolate cake with pink frosting sitting on the kitchen counter. Everyone was there- my parents and Troy's, Alex and Carmen, and Chloe, Chad, and Zeke. And Ryan. He had arrived with flowers for me—pink roses—and a kind smile. I hugged him as a greeting, unable to bring myself to kiss him under the circumstances.<p>

Upon arriving home a few hours ago, I had been in a daze. I shouldn't have followed Troy, if only because my heart now felt empty. He was sick, and everything I had thought had been right. Everything I had worried about was justified. It made me feel sick to my stomach to think that our days were numbered, our time together limited, and here we were, barely even friends. We were working our way up to friendship, but things were never going to be the way they were. The way they were supposed to be.

I sat on my bed and cried, sobbing profusely. My body shook from the effort, and I felt more tired than I had in days. What was I going to do now? Where did I go from here? Did I tell Troy, or did I wait for him to tell me? Why hadn't he told me? Did this have something, or everything, to do with the way things ended last summer? To do with everything that had happened?

Maybe I was just supposed to act like nothing had happened. Like I didn't know anything. Like I had never found the benezapril in the cabinets. Like I had never researched their use. Like I had never gathered up a group of my friends and followed him on a perfectly nice afternoon. Like everything was fine.

God, I was so stupid. I could never just let things be. I had to go searching, had to know what was going on. And now I knew and I couldn't live with the information. I couldn't live with myself. Yet even with everything I knew, I still didn't know what exactly the pills were for. I didn't know exactly what was wrong with him. Maybe he was going to be okay. But if he was going to be okay, why hadn't he said anything to me? Why hadn't he told me? We could have gotten through this together, couldn't we?

I knew too much, but at the same time, I still knew too little.

I didn't know if I wanted to know more, but I didn't know whether I could handle the not knowing. The gaps and the missing pieces. They say ignorance is bliss, and mostly I think this proved they were right. But would I want to go back to not knowing? Wasn't it easier to know?

"Hey," a soft hand laid on top of mine and I looked over at Ryan, who was seated beside me. "Everything okay?"

I nodded, taking his hand in mine and squeezing ever so slightly. "Yeah, of course!" I said, trying to sound cheerful. "I'm fine. Just a little tired. I didn't sleep too well last night."

Ryan frowned. "Because of the rain?" he asked. "It was really loud last night, and this morning."

"Yeah," I said, though the fact remained that I had slept really well, rain or no rain. "It doesn't help that it keeps going and going..."

"I'm sorry it's raining on your birthday," he said, putting his arm around me. "You deserve all of the sunshine in the world."

Normally, I would have blushed or said something witty in response, but I felt like I couldn't. Instead, I just cuddled into his shoulder. "You're sweet," I said, closing my eyes.

"I try," Ryan said with a smile, rubbing his hand up and down my arm. "Did you like your present?"

I nodded, thinking of the Minnie Mouse wallet he had given me an hour before. "Yes, I've already told you!" I said with a giggle. "It's adorable. I love it. Same with the roses."

Ryan beamed back at me. "Good," he said, "I'm glad."

"Hey," a voice said, and I looked up to see Troy standing there, smiling awkwardly. His skin was flushed slightly, and I wondered if it was from embarrassment or from a fever. "Sorry to interrupt."

I shook my head. "No, it's okay!" I said with a smile, my voice sounding foreign to me. "We were just talking."

"Yeah, don't sweat it, man," Ryan said, smiling back. I couldn't help but be impressed with how he seemed to be so calm around Troy. He didn't seem threatened or jealous at all. "Interrupting would be trying to pry Chloe, Zeke, and Chad away from that drunken game of Twister."

We all looked over, and sure enough, my three friends were tangled up on the Twister mat, their limbs criss-crossing every which way. Carmen was spinning the board, sitting beside Alex who was drinking a beer and laughing. Our parents were congregated around the kitchen table, talking amongst themselves. I smiled, feeling warm at the people in my life.

"Yeah, I guess you could classify that as interrupting," Troy said, and we all shared an awkward laugh. Rubbing the back of his neck, Troy gestured his head to the side. "Hey, Gabi, would it be okay if I could talk to you for a minute? I wanted to give you your present."

At this, I felt Ryan stiffen beside me. "I thought you already gave her her present?" Ryan asked, "the necklace, right?"

I looked between the two of them, wanting to get up and run in the opposite direction. Maybe Ryan wasn't so great at this being calm thing after all.

"I did," Troy said, his voice firm. "But this is a little something extra."

"Oh," Ryan said, looking down. "I see."

"You didn't have to get me something else, Troy," I frowned. "But of course we can talk," I said, shooting Ryan a glance. "I'll be right back, Ryan."

Before he could say anything, I stood up, smiling at Troy shyly. He smiled back, before taking my hand and leading me out of the room. I could feel Ryan's eyes on us, or rather on our joined hands, but I couldn't find it in me to break them apart. It felt good; tingles running up and down my spine, and more than that, it felt natural. Like this was how things were supposed to be.

Troy led me into the hallway by the front door. Outside, the rain pelted against the windows in big, fat drops, echoing through the empty space. I looked around, taking in the fact that we were all alone. "You really didn't have to get me anything else, Troy," I said, meaning it. "I love the necklace. It is really the best gift I got, if I'm being honest."

"Really?" Troy said, his eyes lighting up. "Even better than the Minnie Mouse wallet from Ryan or the sweater from Chloe?"

I laughed. "Even better than the signed copy of _The Hunger Games_ from my parents. You know how much I wanted a puppy. Nothing could top this."

Troy grinned at me excitedly, before turning down the hallway. He walked over to where a large bouquet of lilies sat, the same ones I had seen him picking up earlier, and a medium sized blue box with a red ribbon sat on top. "You say that now," he said, his cheeks still flushed, "but you haven't received all of your presents yet."

He handed me the flowers, bowing slightly. "For milady," he said with flourish, and I laughed.

"Why thank you, kind sir," I said, taking the flowers and lifting them to my nose. "I love them. They're my—"

"Favourite," Troy cut me off, "I know. But you might want to set them down so you can open this," he extended the box to me, and I noticed for the first time that there were a series of small, round holes cut in the top. I furrowed my brow, confused, before setting the flowers down.

I peered at Troy, taking the box from him. It was heavier than I expected. He was still smiling, so widely it seemed like he would burst. "You're up to something, Bolton," I said, wearily. "What are you up to?"

He merely shook his head and laughed. "Open it up and see! Come on, I'm getting anxious watching you hold it and not do anything with it!"

"Oh really?" I smiled, "maybe I should draw this out a little more, I mean—" I stopped. The present in my hands had just shifted. It had moved. "Did this just move?" I asked.

Troy shrugged, still smiling. "I don't know. Did it?"

"I—" it moved again, this time, tipping to the side ever so slightly. "Oh my god, Troy, what did you do..."

"Open it!" Troy said, his voice filled with a childish mirth I had not heard in so many years. It sounded wonderful.

Shaking slightly, I moved to kneel on the ground, Troy following suit, and placed the box in front of me. My hands trembling, I carefully undid the ribbon, before pulling back the flaps slowly. Upon seeing the contents inside, I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth.

"Troy!" I yelped, my voice high pitched and wavering. "I can't believe you!"

Inside the box was a very tiny, very excited puppy. The puppy was a pug, and he was wagging his little curly tail excitedly, gazing up at me with wide, curious eyes. Troy had gotten me a puppy. One that looked just like the necklace he had given me. Troy had gotten me a dog. After all of these years, he got me a dog. My childhood wish was coming true, and it was all because of _him_.

Reaching into the box, I pulled out the puppy carefully and placed him in my arms. He barked excitedly and I laughed. "Oh my god, Troy," I said, my voice quiet. "I can't believe you did this."

Troy smiled, sitting down beside me. "It's what you always wanted, and it's your twentieth birthday. I wanted it to be special."

Scratching the dog behind it's ears, I hugged him to my chest. "This is...this is too much, Troy," I said, looking down at the tiny dog in my arms. "This is...this is insane! Does he have a name?"

"His name is Flynn," Troy said, scooting closer to me. "And before you ask, I asked your parents, since he will be staying here for the rest of the summer, and they are totally okay with him being here, too."

I grinned. "You really did go to a lot of trouble for this," I said, looking down at Flynn. "Hi, Flynn! I'm your mommy!" I held Flynn in front of me and he barked excitedly, wagging his tail. I set him down on the floor in front of me then, looking at Troy seriously.

"Thank you," I said, before flinging myself across him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "Thank you so much. This is the best present I've ever received."

Troy sat there in surprise for a minute before wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me back. Pulling away, I realized his cheeks were the brightest of red, and now understood it had been because he was nervous. "It's nothing, really. You deserve it, Gabi."

I scooped Flynn back up into my arms, and Troy reached over, scratching behind his ears. "He's the runt of the litter, so he walks a little funny," he explained, "but he's got a lot of heart, and he's a fighter." He looked up at me then, meeting my eyes. "Just like someone else I know."

He then leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek. I felt my breath hitch in my throat at him being so near, even though he had been this close earlier this morning. But now everything was different. Now I knew he was sick, now I had a dog in my lap that he had given me. He still smelled the same, his lips still felt the same on my skin, but it was completely different.

As he pulled back, I felt myself burst into tears.

"Gabi?" Troy said, alarmed. He put his hand on my knee. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I just..." I trailed off, clutching Flynn in my arms. "I can't believe you went to all of this trouble. You got me a dog, Troy. You can't understand how much this means to me."

"Gabi..." Troy smiled weakly. "You've wanted one ever since we met. Of course I do..."

I shook my head. "No, Troy, I was so lonely sometimes as a kid. Carmen was off having her adventures, and I just wanted a friend to play with when no one else was around. I wanted a dog so badly to be there for me unconditionally. To fill the gaps when kids at school sucked and the months when you weren't there. I wanted that my whole life and you...you just gave it to me. You just went to the trouble of picking one out and asking my parents and...do you have any idea how much this means?"

Troy searched my face. "Well, Helen helped pick him out..."

I felt the tears tumble down my cheeks. "This means so much to me. _You_ mean so much to me. So, so much to me. And everything is so messed up, and you still manage to treat me like everything is fine and you are just so good, Troy."

"Gabi," Troy said, and I could hear the worry in his voice. He reached out, cupping my face with both hands. "Don't cry. This wasn't supposed to make you cry."

"You're just so wonderful, Troy," I said, feeling the tears fall down my lap and onto Flynn's fur. He barked, looking up at me, and licked away the tears that had fallen onto my hand, before nuzzling the skin. "I just care about you so much and I...I don't know what to do and now time is running out."

At this, Troy paused, his fingers still rubbing circles on my cheekbones as he wiped away my tears. "What do you mean time is running out?"

I swallowed, realizing it was now or never. I was already upset. I already knew. What else was there to say. "I found the pills in the cabinet, Troy," I said, softly. "I know that you're sick."

Troy blinked twice, before dropping his hands and sitting back. A silence crept over us. Flynn barked, before looking between us, and running off in search of someone else who would play with him.

I heard excited squeals erupt from the other room upon Flynn's arrival, but I was focused on Troy. He was pale, and he looked like was hardly breathing. Swallowing roughly, he cleared his throat before speaking. "What?"

"I know you're sick, Troy," I said, fresh tears springing to my eyes. "I know you're ill and it scares me to death and I don't know what to do. I saw you going to that medical building today and if you're sick, please don't shut me out."

Troy shook his head. "Wait, what, Gabi, what medical building. I didn't go to a medical building."

I nodded, leaping forward and gripping his hands in mine. "Yes you did. I saw you."

Narrowing his eyes, Troy laced our fingers together, holding mine so tightly his knuckles turned white. "I don't know how you saw me, but I didn't. I went to the flower shop and picked up Flynn today."

Squeezing my eyes shut, I shook my head. "But you're sick, Troy. With heart disease or something and I am scared because I love you and I can't lose you, not when everything is so messed up and I—"

"Gabriella," Troy said, his voice shaking. "I didn't go to that building today. I don't know what you saw, or how you saw it, but I went to the animal shelter that is located by a doctor's office. To pick up Flynn."

I blinked. "But, Troy, I—"

"Gabi?" a voice said, and I looked up to see Carmen there, holding Flynn in her arms. "Is everything okay?"

Suddenly, it was like everyone had come to see what the commotion was. My parents, Alex, Chloe, Ryan...they were all gathered around the doorway, peering at us curiously.

I looked up at them, my face wet, and my head spinning. "I..."

"Oh my god, what's wrong!" Chloe gasped, coming to sit down beside me. "Gabriella are you okay?"

Surveying the people around me, I blinked away the rest of my tears, still holding Troy's hands. "I..." I bit my lip, noticing something was out of place. "Where's Helen?"

"She's sleeping," Lucille said quietly. I frowned.

"Why? She went to bed early last night," I could feel the ground slipping out from under me.

All of the adults in the room said nothing, and then I knew.

I felt Troy squeeze my hands tightly. "Gabi...I..." he swallowed, and I looked up at him then, and realized for the first time that he was crying, too. "Gabriella I'm not the one that's sick. I'm not the one those pills are for."

My heart pounding in my ears, I swallowed. "Then who are they for?"

Bringing our joined hands up to his mouth, Troy kissed my knuckles, before letting out a sob. "They're for Helen."

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><p><strong>OK SO. I know this took quite some time, but as you can probably tell, this chapter is important! I didn't want to slap something together for the sake of updating super fast. I've said it before, but this story is important to me, so I don't want to give subpar work! That said, I am so sorry it took so long. :( You guys have been such wonderful readers and I am so seriously thankful for you. Just know that I am not at all giving up on this fic, so if it seems like I am taking too long, don't worry! I am always thinking about it and discussing it, and having my friends prod me about it. <strong>

**There are tracks at my journal for this chapter, and I've added new links in my profile for Troy and Ryan's presents, and for a picture of Flynn!**

**Thanks to J and K, as always. I LOVE YOU GUYS. **


	10. You're a Bird of Summer

**AN: Okay this is important hence why it is at the top of the chapter! I have recently been moving around some internet things, and I have dedicated a Tumblr to all of my fic writing. There you can ask any questions you have about any of my fics, as well as inquire as to when updates will be coming, what's taking me so long, etc! I will also be posting alerts for when the chapters update and previews if I feel like it! I'll also post pictures that fit with the stories etc. Instead of using my LJ to post songs for chapters, they will instead be hosted on the tumblr. Among other things!**

**So follow: unpropergrammar dot tumblr dot com! :D**

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><p><strong>I Love You More Than French Fries<strong>

Chapter Ten: You're a Bird of Summer

"_When tears run down your face, it's alright, I'll take care of you. Things change so fast, so fast. We gotta slow down; breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out_."

- Rivers by Kankouran

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><p>I was raised to believe that honesty was the best policy. "Always be truthful, Troy," my mother would say with a stern shake of her head. She was usually scolding me, demanding to know if I had in fact, not snacked on cookies and chips before dinner, or if I had simply been lying. "The truth is so rare and it is so important that we use it!" she would continue. "Being honest helps build trust, and trust helps build relationships. You must always be honest, Troy. You must always be truthful."<p>

As difficult as it seemed, I worked hard to be honest. Of course, there were instances when honesty wasn't always the best policy, and it was a thin line between a little white lie that could spare someone's feelings, and a lie that was deceptive. As a kid, it was difficult to really figure out where those lines were, and how they all added up. I am sure I fumbled many times, but it still instilled that life lesson in me. The importance of being truthful.

I think I've lied more in the last year and a half than I have in my entire life.

It should be known up front that we didn't not tell Gabriella about Helen in an attempt to hurt her. We didn't not tell her because we thought she couldn't handle it. It was a difficult subject, and a lot of the time, I wonder exactly why we came to the conclusion we did, but I can promise anyone who asked that it was never our intention to keep her out of the loop forever. I'm pretty sure it was never our intention at all to keep her out of the loop. It was just pure circumstance.

That is where telling the truth and being honest becomes tricky. That is where the lines are ripped apart, erased, and completely forgotten. You can define the ways in which you believe things are right and things are wrong, but that doesn't mean that they will necessarily remain that way. That's because people never seem to factor in that you can't control everything. No matter what we say, and no matter how honest we are, we can't control the way things work. We can't manipulate the outcome of things. We simply have to go along with things as they come.

The problem with that is circumstance, issues, problems; they void all of our words. Actions speak louder, yada yada yada; so why would anyone believe that you had been honest, that you had meant what you said when you said it, when everything you did afterward completely negates it?

They wouldn't.

That was something I knew all too well.

When Gabriella and I were younger, we used to sit on the porch and eat pixie sticks, looking at the stars and talking about the future. As small children, we hoped that maybe next year, we would be taller. Faster. Stronger. Smarter. We hoped that the next day would be sunny, so that we could go swimming and maybe head up to the pier. We hoped that every summer would be like the last one before it.

When we were teenagers, we would hope that we would get into colleges. That high school maybe wouldn't be so awful when we returned in the fall. And as we progressed and got older, and started acknowledging that we had been in love since before we could remember, we started to hope that we would be together.

There was one instance, she was seventeen, and I was nineteen, and I will remember it like it was yesterday. We were sitting on the porch and the night was sticky with humidity. Our legs were entwined, tangled up in one another, and I'm not sure if we were too lazy too move or that our limbs were physically stuck together from the sweat. I sometimes think it was a little bit of both. Either way, we sat against the wall of the summer house, looking up at the constellations and shoving plastic tube after plastic tube of sugary powder into our mouths, just like we were kids. There was a pitcher of lemonade that I had spiked with vodka sitting beside us, and we were in that stage of feeling warm and tipsy; not drunk, just slightly buzzed. I wanted to stay there forever.

As if she were reading my mind, Gabriella rested her head on my shoulder and kissed my arm through the sleeve of my t-shirt. She yawned; the day and the long summer heat catching up with her, before she turned to me. "This has been a good summer," she said thoughtfully, and I looked down at her and smiled. She looked so happy in that moment, still so healthy, because it wouldn't be for a few months before she would start starving herself in an attempt to fit a false ideal. She looked beautiful, her skin glowing and tanned, her hair dark and wild. She wore nothing but a bikini top and a pair of denim shorts, and I found myself wondering on more than one occasion if I could take a peek at what was underneath without our parents walking in on us.

"As opposed to what?" I said with a laugh, drawing her closer. "Have you had a lot of bad summers? Cause I've been a part of most of them, and I can't say they were really even sort of awful."

Gabriella shook her head, her long curly hair falling over my arm and shoulder. "No, not like that! I just mean this summer is good. This summer feels nice. This summer…I like it. That's all."

A grin split across my face and I pressed a sloppy kiss to her forehead, feeling my heart grow so full I thought it might burst. "I'm glad," I said, drawing back and looking at her. She was so beautiful and our relationship, while it had been going on for a year, still felt so exciting and new to me. Sometimes I felt my chest get tight, just from the fact that she was mine. It was overwhelming. "I wouldn't want you having a bad summer."

She leaned up and grazed her lips across my jawline. "I don't think that's possible with you," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Every day with you is like a fairytale."

"Well then," I said, still smiling. "I vow to make every single summer and every single day after this one even more magical than the last."

A beat passed and the air got heavier. Things shifted, and I could tell by the way she was looking at me that the conversation suddenly held more weight than it did a moment earlier. However, it didn't scare me, it didn't seem like it was pressing on my chest. It felt exciting; it felt right.

"Do you mean that?" Gabriella whispered softly. "Every single day?"

I nodded, my throat feeling tight with emotion. "Yeah," I said softly. "Of course."

Scooting even closer to me, Gabriella sat up, holding her herself up on her arms so she was looking down at me. Her hair draped over us like a curtain, shielding us from the outside world. "Every day? From now until well…from now until forever? From now until we grow old?"

Placing my hand on her cheek, I ran a thumb over her lips. "Yes," I said sincerely. "I promise. I want to be with you forever, Gabriella. I promise to love you forever."

A tear slipped from her eyes then and she leaned forward and kissed me. Dragging my hand into her hair, I pulled away from her and spoke against her lips.

"I promise to be with you forever."

And I meant it.

The next year, I broke that promise.

That's the problem with being honest. In that moment, when I promised to love and be with her forever, I meant it. If you asked me tomorrow, I would say that half of it is still true; I promise to love her forever. But we can't be together, and we aren't, and that makes it false.

Cause here's the thing about honesty; you may mean it, and you may believe in it, but the thing that is stronger than honesty is life, and life likes to fuck you over. When you least expect it, life does a number on you. Life changes your plans, alters your routes, and ruins your paths. Life takes honesty and makes it false.

Life makes you look like a liar.

So instead of seeming genuine, instead of seeming sincere, I seemed like I didn't mean the words I said. It seemed like I was just spouting them out in the heat of the moment, like all dumb young people in love do. Or that I meant them, but I only meant them in that moment.

I didn't. I meant them forever.

But how was Gabriella to know that? How as anyone but me to know that? Since I broke my promise, it seemed like I was lying. Why was anyone to believe me?

I've learned over the last year that it is easier not to tell the truth. The truth makes you vulnerable and the truth lets you down. It's easier to lie, easier to keep the truth and honesty hidden away in a box, only to look at when you reminisce. Remember how great it was? To be able to feel and to share that feeling and not worry about it coming back to haunt you?

We didn't not tell Gabriella about Helen because we wanted to hurt her. We didn't tell her because she herself was sick. We didn't tell her because we couldn't honestly say that everything would be okay. We didn't tell Gabriella because we didn't know how to be honest.

Or maybe we didn't want to.

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><p><strong>Three Days Later<strong>

"Good morning, Maria," I greeted, smiling softly. I leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "How are you?"

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'm alright. How about you? Did you sleep alright?"

I shrugged. The truth was I slept like shit. I had tossed and turned all evening, listening to the sound of the waves outside. Other than that, the house was absolutely silent. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought that I was home alone. As it was, the thoughts in my head, the ones that swirled around constantly, were more than enough to keep me busy. The same thoughts that had plagued my mind since days earlier. Same thoughts had been plaguing me for over a year.

"I slept okay," I said, not wanting to add another worry to her list. "How about you?"

"Oh, you know," she said with a smile, flipping the page of her magazine. "Okay."

I smiled back before leaning against the cabinets. The house was still eerily quiet. "Where is everyone?"

"Your mother and father took Helen to her appointment," Maria explained, "and Carmen and Alex went to the market. Eduardo is on the beach, surfing or something along those lines."

I frowned, noting that she had left someone out. "Where's Gabriella?"

Maria gestured to the backdoor. "She's on the porch with Flynn. She's been out there since she woke up."

I swallowed. "She um…she is still mad?"

Nodding, Maria sat back in her seat. "Yes. She didn't say anything to me when she came into the kitchen this morning. Just walked straight out from here to the porch, Flynn in hand."

"Oh," I said, quietly. "Um, has she…has she eaten anything today?"

"No," Maria shook her head. "She hasn't, and I am starting to get worried."

I felt a pit grow in my stomach. Gabriella already wasn't at her healthiest, given by her physical appearance. Having her continue to not eat was dangerous, and it wasn't something I was willing to risk at this point. I already was losing one person I loved to a physical illness. I couldn't lose Gabriella, too. Not when I could try to prevent it.

Biting my lip, I glanced around the kitchen. "Do you have any Nutella?" I asked, heading for the pantry. "And bananas?"

Maria nodded, and I glanced over at her. She seemed tired; her eyes rimmed with dark circles and her hair flat and laying heavy on her head. In all of the years that I had known her, I had seen her look like this on only a handful of occasions. She was always immaculate, always presentable. Her hair was always coiffed, her make up natural, but carefully applied; her clothes neatly pressed. I could still recall each time I had seen her look anything less than put together. Once was when she caught an unfortunate bout of season flu. The second time was when Gabriella was hospitalized. The third was Helen's diagnosis. The fourth would be now.

"The Nutella should be on the top shelf of the pantry, and there's bananas in the fruit bowl. There's bread on the counter-top if you want it."

"Thanks," I said with a nod, gathering the food. "I'm going to make some tea. Did you want any?"

"That would be lovely," she said with a genuine soft smile, and I felt my spirits raise a little higher.

Putting the water on, I took out two pieces of bread and carefully spread a thick amount of Nutella on each piece. Then I peeled the banana and sliced it, taking the small pieces and placing them on top of the chocolate spread. One more thin layer of Nutella, and I pressed the two pieces together. I cut the sandwich diagonally before preparing Gabriella and her mother a cup of tea. They took it exactly the same; one milk, one sugar.

Gathering the plate and the tea cup on a tray, I walked over to the backdoor, not without stopping to hand Maria a cup. As I continued on my way, she grabbed my arm, pulling me backwards.

"Troy," she said, looking up at me. "Thank you. Really. Gabriella is lucky to have you. We're all lucky to have you."

I smiled shyly. "Not as lucky as I am to have all of you, even after all of this," I said sincerely, before ducking out the door before she could stop me.

The weather was overcast that day, and as soon as I stepped out, I found myself wondering why Eduardo had bothered to go surfing. There couldn't be any good waves. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he was probably doing what we were all doing. Finding ways to get out of thinking of what was really happening.

Gabriella was curled up on one of the chairs, her feet tucked up underneath her, Flynn sitting in her lap. She looked out at the water, not acknowledging my presence, if she even knew I was there. She was wearing denim shorts and a thin white t-shirt, the strings of her bikini poking out around her neck. Her hair was piled up high on her head, and had this been a year ago, I would have gone over and kissed the flesh of her neck, feeling her pulse flutter underneath my lips. As it was, I merely cleared my throat, watching her head snap up to look at me.

"Hi," I said softly.

She blinked twice, scratching Flynn behind his ears. "Hi."

I cleared my throat again. "I um, brought you something to eat. Nutella and banana, your favourite."

She didn't say anything, just looked out to the water. I shifted from one foot to another, before sitting down at the seat beside her. Flynn let out a bark, wagging his tail at me.

"Hi, buddy," I leaned over to let him lick my hand, and Gabriella stiffened. I frowned. "How about you help me get your mommy to eat something, okay?"

Flynn barked in approval and I smiled. Gabriella rolled her eyes. "I'm not hungry."

"Gabriella," I said, feeling exasperated. The last few days had been so tiring, even more tiring than usual. "You haven't eaten anything all day, and I'm pretty sure you weren't at dinner last night either. So just do me a favor and eat."

"I told you, I'm not hungry."

I felt my throat grow tight. "Gabriella," I said, my voice pained. She looked over at me, and I saw something flicker over her face; as if she saw how upset I was. "Please, just eat something. I can't…I can't have you sick, too."

Still not saying anything, she took the tray from my hands and began to rip the sandwich into small pieces. I watched as she took one and brought it to her mouth, nibbling carefully.

"Thank you," I whispered. "That's all I wanted."

We sat in silence for several moments as we looked out to the water. Gabriella ate a few more pieces of her sandwich, slowly, still nibbling, but it was better than nothing. I cleared my throat, wanting to initiate conversation. Wanting to know that she was okay.

"Too bad it's so cloudy out," I said, feeling desperate. "Otherwise today would have been a perfect beach day."

"Hmm," Gabriella responded, and I felt myself deflate even further.

I clenched my hands, itching for something to say. "Um, did you maybe want to go see a movie later? We could do that, I mean...I feel like we should...talk."

Gabriella looked at me then, pausing mid bite. "Talk?" she said slowly.

I swallowed. "Yeah...talk."

Shaking her head, she ripped the piece of bread she was holding into even smaller pieces. "Oh, so _now _you want to talk."

"Gabriella I—"

"Why didn't anyone tell me, Troy?" she said, her voice steady and strong. She looked at me with angry eyes and I felt my heart ache. "I love her, too. She might not be _my_little sister, but she's as much a part of my family as everyone else. What did I do that I deserved to not know? What did I do that I deserved to be completely left out of the loop?"

I looked down, swallowing thickly. At the time, not telling Gabriella had made so much sense. Now, looking back on it, it seemed so wrong. So cruel. "I…you were sick, too…"

"So, what, you thought I couldn't handle it?" She asked, her eyes shining. "You thought poor, sick Gabriella was gonna starve herself because she found out someone else was worse off than her? Is that it?"

"No!" I said, shaking my head. "You were sick and things were hard. No one thought that it was fair to you to put more on your plate. You were so…you were so fragile, Gabriella. No one wanted to make things even harder for you, no one wanted you to relapse—"

Gabriella laughed bitterly. "So what, your solution was to not tell me, and then you broke up with me? Everyone was so worried that I would fall apart because of Helen, but you decided to break up with me! You decided that you didn't love me! What a smart man you were."

"It wasn't that easy, Gabriella," I felt my eyes cloud with tears. "It wasn't as easy as me just deciding that I didn't love you. That wasn't the case, you know that wasn't the case. When Helen was diagnosed with diabetes while you were in treatment, it was hard. She's just a kid! And it was something that my parents had worried about me getting my entire life, and finally it seemed like I was in the clear and then she gets sick. My poor, baby sister is stuck with a chronic disease that she will have to deal with for her entire life. This is on top of the fact that my girlfriend, the person I love more than anyone in the world, also has a chronic disease. It was so fucking hard to deal with."

My composure broke then and I ran a hand through my hair, the tears falling from my eyes before I could stop them. "And then, even worse, right before you get out of treatment we find out that we caught the disease too late. We find out that diabetes can cause organs to fail, and my tiny little sister's kidney is slowly, but surely failing, and no one can find a transplant for her because her blood type is rare. I found out my sister was dying while trying to handle that my girlfriend almost died, and you think that it was just a matter of me not telling you because _you_ couldn't handle it? That I broke up with you because I thought _you_ weren't strong enough and didn't want to deal with it? No, Gabriella, I broke up with you because _I _couldn't handle it. I couldn't watch you die, I didn't want to, and I was too scared to do anything but watch out for myself. I'm a selfish, selfish man, but I love you and I am sorry I fucked things up so badly. But my sister is dying, and she will continue to die, and I don't know what else to tell you except for that I am sorry. I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry."

I felt a small, wet tongue on my face, and opened my eyes to see Flynn standing on his hind legs, attempting to lap up my tears. He whined slightly, his eyes round as they looked up at me. I glanced over at Gabriella, feeling my heart break at the tears that streamed down her face; at the hand that was pressed over her mouth. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, and I wanted to go over and hold her. But what would I say? What would I do? All I had done was hurt her, continued to hurt her with my words, with my actions. How could I ever make that all better?

I looped my hands around Flynn and settled him down in my lap, taking deep breaths trying to regain my composure. Across from me, I heard Gabriella continue to cry.

Moments passed, with nothing but the sounds of our tears and breaths and Flynn's occasional whining filling the air. The waves crashed and the seagulls called, but neither of us said anything.

Finally, Gabriella spoke. "You had no right to make that decision for me," she said, "none of you did. None of you had the right to decide not to tell me. I may be sick, but I am strong, too, Troy. None of you had the right to make that decision for me. None of you had the right to decide that I wouldn't be able to handle it."

I shook my head, looking at her, my eyes sore and heavy. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"And you never had the right to decide that it was okay for you to end things. You didn't, Troy. We had been a team since we were kids. It was you and me, and I would have…I would have tried to help you. I…you had no right."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Because now…now…" she let out a gasp and the tears came flooding back. "Now you've ruined it. Now things are even worse. Now…now I don't know if anything will ever be the same."

I heard footsteps approach and Flynn let out a bark. Eduardo was coming up the stairs, his hair wet, his board trailing along side him. He glanced between the two of us, the lines on his face seeming more prominent. "Is everything okay?"

With that, Gabriella let out a sob before jumping off from her chair and running into the house. Flynn let out another bark before leaping off my lap and trailing after her.

Her sandwich sat on the tray, still in pieces. Her tea was untouched.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, I was the kind of tired that felt like it would never go away. The kind that no matter how long I slept, I would just wake up feeling sleepy. Like I'd drift through the days with heavy eyes and fuzzy thoughts. As if I could fall asleep at any second.<p>

Yet my mind was racing. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried to occupy my time, I found myself constantly thinking. Constantly moving. Pacing around my room, replaying my conversation with Gabriella over and over. I tried watching some television, but nothing was holding my attention, and I found myself comparing every girl on screen to Gabriella. She was thinner, she was prettier, her voice sounded better.

I found myself looking at every kid and wondering if they were healthy, or if they were sick, too.

When television failed, I tried cleaning; organizing the large bookshelf tucked away in the corner of my room. I had attempted collecting paperback novels the summer I was eighteen, Gabriella in tow. We had gone to small local shop after small local shop, gathering the silliest books we could find. The oldest books we could find. The most romantic, most adventurous, most erotic, most anything of every kind of book possible. I had planned to read them all, eventually, but the next summer I was too wrapped up in Gabriella to be bothered, and the next summer was the worst and loneliest of my life, so I never really got around to it.

But going through the books only further made me think about everything that was wrong. I could match each book with a memory of when Gabriella and I had gotten it. Could remember how we laughed over some of the titles and how Gabriella had seemed genuinely interested in a few of them. Eventually, I gave up organizing the bookshelf, too.

I attempted to lift some weights, figuring I might as well be productive, and maybe work off some of the stress, but again, it was too quiet. There were too many silences in between the lifting of each weight to really erase what I was thinking.

So I did the only thing I could think of doing. I went to my closet, looked under piles of junk and old clothes, and retrieved an old basketball..

As much as basketball wasn't a part of my life anymore—despite my avid love for it in high school, and while I had played in college, I gave it up last year—it still was what I went back to when I had nothing else. Basketball was something I was good at, almost unfailingly. I had been told so many times in high school that it was something I could pursue professionally, but by the time I was seventeen, I hadn't really had the same interest. I was exploring different things, realizing that school was more than just social hour, and I was in love, and that was making me realize there was more to life, too.

Still, in moments like this, basketball was a comfort. Basketball was home. So slipping on my sneakers, I headed outside.

Down near the driveway, past the porch, but not on the beach, Ed and my dad had installed something of a rickety basketball hoop years ago. It never really got used; even as a kid I wanted to spend my summers swimming and surfing and digging for shells over bouncing a ball on the asphalt. Somehow, it always came in handy on nights like tonight.

I bounced the ball once, then twice. There wasn't a whole lot of air in it, but I had no idea where my pump was. I bounced it once more before aiming towards the net and throwing it. It bounced off the net and rebounded.

I made a move to turn behind me to grab it, thinking it odd that I never heard it hit the ground. When I turned around fully though, I felt myself stiffen.

There was a reason it never hit the ground. It was in the hands of Sharpay Evans.

Holding the ball, she smiled awkwardly, even a little shyly. "Hi, Troy!" she said, her voice still peppy. She was wearing the shortest hot pink shorts I had ever seen and a sheer white lace top, her bikini top visible underneath. Her hair was in curls down her shoulders, her face full of make up. I instantly felt my eyes grow heavier. I couldn't deal with her now.

"What are you doing here, Sharpay?" I asked bluntly.

She blinked, visibly taken aback. "I just thought I'd come by. I…you…we haven't seen each other since…since…"

"Since when, Sharpay?" I cut her off.

"Since, well, you know, since we—"

"Since you were a bitch to Gabriella and then Chloe Anders ripped out a chunk of your hair?"

She flushed then, her face as bright as her shorts and ducked her head. "Um, yeah. I just…I wanted to apologize."

I nodded, setting my jaw. "Okay," I said, "Thanks. You can go now."

Turning the ball over in her hands, she still didn't look at me. "Troy, I am really sorry about what I said."

"Okay," I said, nodding once more. "Can I have my ball back?"

Her head snapped up then, eyes flashing violently. "Don't be rude, Troy," she barked. "I'm trying to apologize."

"See the thing about apologies, Sharpay," I spit, "is that you have to fucking mean them. And you? You never mean them. So can you give me my ball and leave?"

Sharpay glared at me, before taking my basketball, turning around and hurtling it towards the beach. I let out a groan.

"Seriously?" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up. "You are five fucking years old. Just go home."

"No!" she said with a stomp of her foot. "Not until you let me apologize and you forgive me!"

"Fine!" I yelled. "I forgive you, now go home."

Sharpay folded her arms over her chest. "No, you don't. I'm sorry for just showing up here out of the blue like this, but you haven't spoken to me in days. I didn't bother calling cause I knew you wouldn't answer, and I just want to say I am sorry about what I said."

I narrowed my eyes. I had known Sharpay a long time; almost as long as I had known Gabriella, and I _knew_her. I knew that she was good underneath it all, but I knew that it took a lot to find it. And I knew that despite what she was saying, her being here wasn't laced with good intentions.

"Are you really, though, Sharpay? Cause history tells me you're not," I folded my own arms over my chest. "You're just upset cause I'm mad. Be honest, if I hadn't gotten upset, if I hadn't been just as mad at you as everyone else, you wouldn't even be here. You're not here because you're sorry that you said something fucking awful to Gabriella. You're here because you're upset that I'm mad at you."

She flinched, and bit her lip, and I knew that I was right. "I am sorry about what I said….but I can't help it! I have word vomit, you know that!"

I sighed then and looked at her. She looked small and made up and everything that I didn't want. "I know that, Sharpay, I do. But that's not an excuse. That doesn't make it justifiable. That isn't some charming trait I can use to just pass over your words. 'Oh, Sharpay has word vomit, ha ha ha.' I know that you do, I know that you don't think before you act and you act purely on emotion and impulse. But I can't…I can't just let it go this time."

"What do you mean?" she said quickly, her voice sounding nervous.

"I just mean…" I let out another breath. "I like you, Sharpay, I do. And I forgive you. But we can't be friends anymore."

Her face fell then and I saw her cheeks heat up anymore. "What? Why? Troy, we've been friends for years!"

"No, Sharpay, we haven't. As much as we pretended, we were never friends. You always wanted something more and I never wanted anything at all. And you…you knew I loved…_love_ Gabriella, and you worked so _hard_these past few weeks to make her life miserable. You went to her work and harassed her. You were so mean to her for no reason. Did you think that was going to work? Did you think…did you think it would make me love you instead?"

Sharpay ran a hand through her hair. "No, I didn't, Troy, I just…don't be silly, okay? We can still be friends."

I shook my head. "No, we can't Sharpay. Not when you feel like this and I feel the exact opposite. Not when whatever you are feeling makes you into this person. You're better than that."

"Troy, no, we can still be friends. I promise I will be nicer, I'll be better, I swear."

"I know you will, Sharpay," I closed my eyes. "But you can't do it this way. You just…you crossed the line this time, and there is just…I have too much shit going on right now. I can't…I don't want you in my life fucking things up and making it harder just because I am in love with someone who is not you."

It was harsh, and maybe it was the toll of the day wearing me thin, but I couldn't think of any other way to cushion what I was trying to say. So I just said it, despite feeling like shit at the look on her face.

Her eyes filled with tears and she looked down. "Do you think…do you think there's anyway that maybe…one day, we—"

"No," I said, cutting her off. "I don't."

I couldn't be with someone like Sharpay. Someone who always thought about want, want, want all of the time.

She rolled her eyes. "I just…I just _hate_her okay? She doesn't deserve you."

"You're right," I said, "she deserves better."

She narrowed her eyes and chuckled darkly. "Oh please, Troy. Don't feed me that bullshit. She's dating my brother, now. She doesn't even love you."

"That doesn't change anything, Sharpay," I said once more. "That doesn't change how I feel."

"He _loves_her, Troy."

I looked at her then, not even flinching at her words. "He barely knows her, Sharpay," I said, feeling confident in my words. "He doesn't love her. He doesn't know her. Not like I do."

With that, I put my hand on the doorknob, turning to go back inside. "Troy, you deserve better!" Sharpay said quickly, as if those fleeting words would suddenly change my mind. As if I would suddenly think she the wiser option and take back everything I had just said.

"Maybe I do deserve better, Sharpay," I didn't look at her. "But Gabriella? She's not better. Gabriella? She's the best, and I sure as hell don't deserve her."

A couple of tears fell from Sharpay's eyes and I felt my heart lurch. I didn't want to hurt her feelings either, I just didn't know how to go about this any other way. "It's not fair," she sniffled. "It's just not fair."

"Life isn't fair, Sharpay," I said.

With that, I turned around and walked back inside. Things seemed quieter now, and as I began to make my way through the kitchen and up the stairs, I paused, hearing the murmur of voices coming from the living room.

Someone was crying.

I turned around carefully, peering over my shoulder to make sure it wasn't Sharpay. However, as I looked out to the porch, I could see that she wasn't there, and the sound of a car pulling away echoed in the distant. That definitely meant it was coming from the living room.

Moving quietly, I walked over to the living room, peering through the doorway to peak inside to see who was in the living room, and who was crying.

Carmen sat on the sofa, holding a box of Kleenex. Beside her, curled into a small ball and crying inconsolably, was Gabriella.

My heart tightened and I turned away from the doorway immediately. I didn't want her to see me for fear of interrupting. Leaning against the wall adjacent to the door, I swallowed, trying to quiet my breathing.

"I just don't know what to do, Car," I could hear her say. "I don't understand this. I…why did it have to be _Helen_? She's so _young_. She's so tiny. She's so..._little_."

I heard Carmen sigh. "I don't know, Gabi. These things just happen. You knew diabetes runs in the Bolton's family. You knew there was a chance any of them could get sick at any time."

Gabriella sniffled. "I know that," she said through her tears. "I know that. When we were little, Lucille and Jack were always monitoring things with Troy. They were always trying to make sure that they could prevent it in him. I just don't understand why Helen got it, and got it so severely, at such a young age."

"No one knows those things," Carmen let out a sigh. "Last summer, you know I wasn't up here. But I got phone calls from mom; I tried to be involved as much as possible because I…I didn't want to hear bad news about _you_. So imagine my surprise when I heard that it was Helen going to the doctor all of the time."

Gabriella let out another sob. "But it's treatable, I know it is. So I don't understand how she got so sick so quickly."

"It was caught a little too late, I think."

"But _how_?" Gabriella sounded exasperated. "They were always monitoring Troy. How could they let this go undetected?"

Carmen paused then and I closed my eyes. I had wondered the same thing, every day, for over a year. How had my parents, my crazy, super attentive parents, not noticed that Helen was sick? How had her little body gotten so sick, so quickly?

"The symptoms weren't there until it progressed further. You know these things can go undetected; you're a science student. And by the time things were diagnosed and they managed to get her sugar level under control with insulin, they discovered that her kidney function was declining."

Gabriella sniffled again. "Give me some Kleenex," she said, and I heard her blow her nose. "I just…I know that diabetes can cause organ failure, I know that. But Helen? How can her kidneys be failing? Why isn't she on dialysis?"

"It's a slow process, Gabs. It's not like she's gonna wake up one day and she's…" Carmen swallowed, unable to finish her sentence. "It doesn't happen over night. That's what the medication you found was for. The benazepril? It slows down kidney failure."

"So what are her options? Mom and Lucy explained it to me, but I'm still...I still don't know for sure."

"Well," Carmen cleared her throat. "a transplant is essentially what she needs, but her blood type is rare and transplants are hard to come by as it is. At the moment, I think the plan is to just…continue on with the medication and hope that she can hold out for a transplant."

Another sniff. "And a transplant? That will cure her?"

"It won't cure her, you know that, Gabi," Carmen said, sounding tired. "I know it is difficult, but look at this realistically. She has diabetes and it is a chronic condition, but she will be able to live normally with it. So a transplant will definitely save her from…you know. And then we can only hope that she goes through life with as few complications as possible."

There was a long pause then, and I had almost thought that their conversation was over until I heard Gabriella chuckle lightly. "I thought that it was Troy sick, did you know that? I saw him in the kitchen one day getting a couple of the pills and I thought he was taking them. It all made sense to me. Then I find out that it's Helen that's sick, Helen who needs the medication, and then only reason Troy had it was because he's the only one who can get her to take it without a fuss."

"He's good at that," Carmen said softly. "He's good at taking care of people."

"He is," Gabriella said just as softly.

Another beat passed before I heard Gabriella sob. "I just…I'm so mad, Carmen. I am so mad at him, at you, at _everyone_, but mostly I'm mad because Helen is…Helen is dying. And I love her. I love her, she's like my little sister. I was there when she was born, I held her when she was the length of my arm. I taught her how to jump rope. And the whole time, these past few weeks I have been acting so _selfish_and caring about nothing but my problems. My problems with Troy, my problems with myself. I should have been with her, I should have been…I should have been making it count."

"Gabriella," Carmen interjected. "It's not your fault. You didn't know, and that is our fault."

"I just wish…I wish I had known. Then I wouldn't have wasted so much time. Helen can't die, Carmen. _She can't_. I don't know what to do…what do I do?" Gabriella sounded near hysterical at this point. "Just tell me there's something I can do. I've been doing research since I found out and there's so little I can do. "

"There is nothing you can do, Gabriella," Carmen said. "This is life and it sucks sometimes. But just…just love her and that will be enough."

"I don't want her to die, Carmen," Gabriella sobbed. "I can't let her die."

At this point, my throat was tight and my stomach was in knots. I brushed the tears that were streaming down my own face off with the back of my hand. I couldn't stand there and listen to her anymore. I couldn't.

I merged from around the corner and heard Carmen pause mid-sentence. "Troy?" she said and I glanced over at her. Her hair was in a bun on the top of her head, her eyes red and watery. "I…were you…did you, um, overhear?"

I nodded slowly before kneeling down in front of Gabriella. She looked up at me, crying so hard she was hiccupping, before she wrapped her arms around my neck and collapsed.

I immediately pulled her closer, feeling her warm body press against mine before burying my head into her neck, feeling my hot tears spill out from my eyes.

"I'll…I'll leave you two alone," I heard Carmen say with a sniffle before she made a quick exit.

Minutes passed, the two of us a heap on the floor, crying and clutching one another. Eventually, I lifted her up and we laid down on the couch, still crying, still tangled. I didn't know where she began and where I started.

"Troy," she said sadly, her eyes leaking onto my shirt. "I don't know what to do."

Pressing my lips to her forehead, I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled her tighter against me. "I don't know either, Gabi," I whispered against her skin. "I don't know neither."

We laid like that until we fell asleep.

* * *

><p>"Troy!" I felt a small tap on my face. "Troy! Troy! Wake up! Wake up!"<p>

I opened my eyes, feeling the warm sunlight on my face and blinked. Long light brown hair pooled over my eyes and face and I coughed slightly. "Yay, you're awake!"

Helen had crawled up and was laying on my torso, her small body warm and light. I felt her pulse fluttering quickly against my chest. I smiled brightly at her. "Morning, Len."

She grinned toothily at me. "Good morning!" she giggled. "Come on and have some food! Mama and Maria made pancakes and bacon and it is yummy!"

I laughed. "Okay, okay, slow down," I said, struggling to sit up. "And move it, will you? You're too heavy for me."

Helen sat up then, still sitting on my stomach. "I am not! I am just really strong and full of muscle!" she flexed her tiny arms then and I laughed once more.

"Yeah, Len," I said, feeling my heart squeeze. "You're super strong."

I sat up then and tucked my sister into my body. Sometimes it was hard to realize that she was even sick. Some days she seemed fine, she seemed normal, and she seemed healthy. Other days she was dizzy, other days she slept the hours away. But there were moments like this when I almost thought that it was all a dream. That her kidney wasn't failing and she wasn't dying.

She stiffened in my arms. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

Still holding her tightly against my chest, I swallowed before pressing my lips to the top of her head. "I'm okay," I said, my voice quiet. "Are you? Are you feeling okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah," she said softly. "I'm feeling okay. The pancakes made me feel good."

"Good," I said, pressing another kiss to her head. "Good."

Helen shifted in my arms, wrapping her tiny hands around my bicep. "Troy, why are you on the couch?"

I blinked, taking in my surroundings and realized that I was still in the living room. That I had woken up alone. Gabriella must have woken up some time ago. Though I could swear that an hour earlier when I had stirred, she was still in my arms. Or maybe she had left half way through the night.

"I just fell asleep here, Lenny," I explained. "It was a long day."

"Oh," Helen said, yawning slightly. "Was Gabi so tired that she just fell asleep on top of you?"

I looked at her, startled. "What?"

Helen shrugged. "When I woke up you and Gabi were all tangled up on the couch. Was it like that time at the fair when I was so tired I just fell asleep when Daddy was carrying me?"

"Yeah," I said quickly. "It was like that."

"Oh," Helen said once more. "Will you help me take my medicine?"

I nodded before scooping her up in my arms. "You bet, Len. We'll go do that now."

Holding her against me, I walked to the kitchen while she babbled in my ear about the shells Robert and Carmen had promised to help her collect later in the day. When we entered the kitchen, however, I could immediately sense there was tension.

My parents were leaning against the counter, my father nursing a mug of coffee and my mother stood with her hands against her mouth. Flynn paced the floor by his water bowl, wagging his tail and looking from person to person. Carmen was seated at the table, her hands pressed to her temples with Alex by her side, rubbing her back comfortingly. Across from her were her parents, Ed will his arms folded over his chest and Maria looking positively alarmed. At the end of the table sat Gabriella, her hair messy and her eyes puffy, a stack of papers and her laptop in front of her.

"Gabriella," Maria said, "do you realize what you are suggesting? This isn't something that you just…you just decide and then undecide. This is a big decision."

"I know that, Mom," Gabriella said, her mouth set in a thin line. "I know that. I'm not taking this lightly."

"Gabriella, honey," my mom said, looking tired. "It's not that we think you are taking this lightly, it's just that…well, you woke up and announced this…it's rather sudden."

"It wouldn't be sudden if you all had just told me, you know."

"Gabriella!" Eduardo snapped. "Now is not the time."

"No, it's not," Carmen piped in. "So let's not get all dramatic because it is just making this seem even more irrational. Gabriella, are you sure this is something you want?"

Gabriella sighed and nodded. "Yes! I've been doing my research, I've been looking into things. There's a good chance I'm a match and if you had all just let me in instead of keeping me in the dark, you would have known this sooner!"

"Gabriella, we could never ask you do this," my dad said. "It's risky…"

I felt my heart speed up and Helen clutched onto the sleeve of my shirt. "What's risky?" I finally asked. "What's going on?"

All eyes in the kitchen snapped to me and for a moment, no one said anything. I looked from person to person, feeling more anxious by the second. "Well?" I asked again. "What's going on?"

Maria let out a sigh. "Gabriella…has some interesting news."

I swallowed. "And what's that?"

Gabriella turned to look at me then, her eyes wide and determined. "I have been doing some research and looked into some things over the last few days. I've made a decision. I think I might be a match and if so, I want to be a donor for Helen. I want to give her one of my kidneys."

* * *

><p><strong>OKAY. So it's been a while! I started school and it was honestly the worst semester of my life and I was so, so, so busy for a while. Then I thought I would have time to update over Christmas break, but I was super busy during all of that, too! Now this semester seems a lot quieter and therefore I have a lot more free time, so hopefully I will be able to dedicate a little more time to writing!<strong>

**I KNOW, THIS WAS A PRETTY BIG CHAPTER. There were a lot of details that I really had to think on before I moved forward with this, so I am glad I didn't just throw it together. This is also why it took so long!**

**LOTS OF THANK YOUS, THOUGH! Number one to all of you for sticking with this fic and pestering me for updates! I appreciate it so much! It really helps me to stay motivated.**

**To Arlyn, who is so super lovely and always makes my day with her thoughtful messages and encouragements/pestering to see if I am writing! And for her lipstick hunting skills.**

**AND TO MY BETAS, JULINA AND KIRSTEN. They helped SO MUCH with this chapter, it wouldn't even be here without them. They gave such wonderful input as I was writing this sucker and really helped me make sure I was fleshing out as much as possible! Kirsten also helped with so much of the medical stuff, which I reallllly appreciate, cause I am a media student and what do I know?**

**That said: please always give me a head's up if any of my medical information is inaccurate! I am trying to be vague about it while being detailed as to leave no room for error, but as I said: media student.**

**So tracks for this chapter are on my new ~tumblr~ please check them out, they are lovely.**


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